More than Battered
by nurse13
Summary: After the skirmish in Pinon (S2 E5, 'The Return'), the boys are on their way back to Paris. There is only one little problem: Athos didn't escape as unscathed as it seemed at first look. *&* Slightly off- cannon, as well as a bit AU. Lots of H/C and Angst and 'some' Athos-whump. *&* Main focus on Athos and d'Artagnan and their bond.
1. Chapter 1

**More than Battered**

" _ **A little battered, but just about serviceable."**_

" _ **Are you talking about yourself or that pistol?"**_

(The Musketeers, Season 2, Episode 5: Athos and d'Artagnan talking in the cellar of the former Comte's burned down manor.)

 **A/N:** This is my first longer story ever written in English (I'm no native English speaker), but because there's no adequate fandom for 'The Musketeers' on German pages I just had to try. And because Athos is my favourite character and –to cite my beta- because we only whump those we love, I decided to give my mind plenty of scope. This is what came forth.

It could be seen as a missing scene between Season 2, episodes 5 and 6, slightly off-show, 'cause it's my fantasy. Somehow it also became more similar to a chamber drama, the major part of the story taking place at the garrison. And, as I am a nurse loving her job, it might be just a little bit medicine-centred. Sorry for that, maybe my next try will get better. ;)

Aah... almost forgot to mention: This might become a tiny bit supernatural, somehow...

Don't like it, don't read!

Twenty-one chapters planned, including a short epilogue, to be updated every three or four days.

 _ **I owe nothing of 'The Musketeers'**_ _, I simply borrow the boys to toy around with them!_

On final note: Very much thanks to my great beta - **Space Cowboy** \- who did a great job in finding all my vocabulary abuse and grammar mistakes and in trying to make me a better writer.

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 **Chapter One**

Something was wrong.

Turning his head for the fifth or sixth time after they had left Pinon, d'Artagnan studied his mentor carefully. Athos had been in the lead when they had started their trip back to Paris, eager to get away from his memories, but overtime he'd slowed down and was now riding at the back. So now d'Artagnan had this odd gut feeling there was something wrong with their leader, that he was hiding something.

 _Flashback_ …

 _Athos stood between the villagers swaying slightly, hands bound and looking dishevelled, when their rescue-party arrived at Pinon. Porthos was the first to arrive at Athos' side, jumping from his horse and cutting the rope. Athos merely nodded his thanks, turned around and disappeared into one of the barns._

 _D'Artagnan watched him closely, noticing that Athos was favouring his left side a little, but apart from that seemed to be okay. Sharing a quick glance with Aramis he understood that their medic had also noticed. Because they both knew that the swordsman was the last one to talk about -in his own eyes- minor injuries, neither said a word; and shortly afterwards Athos simply had left the village._

 _At first, d'Artagnan couldn't understand Athos' behaviour, denying his duty, deserting his tenants, but later that day he would come to realize how much being back in Pinon truly bothered the Comte._

 _They were in the cellar of the Comte's burned down manor, looking for weapons to use in the forthcoming skirmish, when the Gascon finally understood. Athos' reaction to his little teasing made him see how awkward the whole situation was for his mentor, being reminded of his younger brother's death._

 _During the skirmish with the Baron and his son, it seemed as if Athos was holding back, but when it came to the duel between him and Edmond his swordplay was as excellent and elegant as always. Even when the defeated nobleman attacked Athos, who was talking to Catherine, from behind, d'Artagnan watched the scene rather relaxed, but when the crack of the gunshot rang out, and he saw Athos and his combatant drop to the ground, the Gascon's heart skipped a beat._

 _For some seconds he was frozen in place before he hurried over to the heap of people, none of them moving. When Athos struggled to pick himself up, d'Artagnan felt the urge to ask him if he was okay. And, non- surprisingly, he got a 'yes' as an answer, which he didn't truly believe. For that reason, the Gascon decided to watch his mentor even more closely, just in case._

 _As they were getting ready to leave, the former Comte acted much more like his usual self, calm and, self-composed, whilst handing over his seal ring to the new mayor. Athos, in fact, seemed to even appreciate his brother's involvement, giving his thanks for their support, before they finally left Pinon._

 _End flashback_ …

Thoughtfully, the youngest musketeer looked over to his brothers, trying to find out if anyone of them had noticed what he had, concerning Athos.

Porthos and Aramis were engaged in their usual banter, teasing each other and chuckling like children. Captain Treville now was riding in the lead, looking back over his shoulder from time to time to make sure they all were still following. But none of them seemed to be concerned about Athos' withdrawn behaviour, most likely pinning it on the swordsman's well- known bad moods in conjunction with the events of the day.

So d'Artagnan turned his head again and shot another glance back to the figure behind him, assuring himself that his observation was no imagination.

Athos was no longer sitting upright in the saddle, but beginning to slump down. He wasn't wearing his hat, so d'Artagnan could see his face clearly. His mentor's forehead was glistening with sweat, more than he would have expected given the rather normal temperature, with some of the tiny drops slowly trickling down his cheek.

What concerned the Gascon was, that the ex-comte didn't seem to care about it. On the contrary, the swordsman was pulling his cloak around him as if he was feeling cold. Also, the man's face was pale, even compared to his usual colour of skin, and his eyes were tightly closed. Studying him more intensely, d'Artagnan could even see traces of stifled pain marring his face.

Yes, something was absolutely wrong.

"Aramis!" d'Artagnan called in a low voice while encouraging his mare toward the medic.

The marksman, who was talking with Porthos, looked back to him and slowed his horse. "Something wrong, lad?" he asked once they were riding side by side.

"Yes. Look at Athos and tell me what you think."

The older man grinned briefly and shook his head. "Nothing to be concerned of, pup, it's just his grouchy mood."

"Take a closer look," d'Artagnan protested.

Perceiving the worry in his brother's voice, the medic turned his head and watched Athos carefully. "Ohhh..."

"He's hiding something, I'm sure," the youngest musketeer said. "I assure you, he was already injured when we arrived at Pinon, cracked or even broken ribs maybe. You remember the maiden talked about him being beaten down and kicked in the side?"

"You're right. But there's more," Aramis agreed.

"That's what I'm talking about," grunted the Gascon. "Maybe he took another wound during the skirmish?"

"Perhaps. So let's slow down just in case."

*14AAA41*

Athos was hurting. The pain in his left side was annoying, but that was something he was used to. This was not his first time riding with cracked ribs. But the pain in his back was getting worse.

Trying to remember what had happened and when, he allowed his mind to return to the place he never wanted to see again.

 _Flashback_...

 _After his duel with Edmond, he barely noticed that he'd been stabbed. It stuck a little, but nothing to be concerned of, or worth mentioning. Besides there was only a little blood, so he considered it a simple scratch, nothing more. Even during the clean up of the village he had more trouble with his aching ribs, but again, he didn't think it worth mentioning._

 _That night he slept little, although exhaustion was taking its toll on him. He was lying on his bed, trying to rest, but not able to stop his mind from wandering. Thoughts of Anne, his wife, and Thomas, and everything he had lost in life due to his actions were keeping him awake._

 _In the morning, his back was still hurting a little, feeling like strained muscles, and when he touched it, he again found a bit of blood, but not enough to even think about telling Aramis. So he simply had put on his cloak, masking the little blood stains on his shirt, and went to write the letter for the new mayor of Pinon, grateful for the chance to hand over the responsibility._

 _Mounting his horse made him wince, causing him to hiss through gritted teeth, but luckily none of the others had noticed. So he left his former estate with relative ease and led his brothers back to Paris, eager to quickly bring as much distance as possible between himself and Pinon._

 _End flashback_...

Since two hours now, maybe a little longer, Athos' back was hurting badly. Every movement of his horse sent flashing shots of pain through his left flank and a part of his back, and he struggled to keep upright. He tried shifting positions, but even slumping down was causing pain to his already aching ribs.

Pitting his will against his pain, he managed to ride seemingly normal for the main part of the trip, but now he had no more will left, the constant pain winning the upper hand. He was no longer able to watch his surroundings, letting the horse walk on, blindly following the others. On the verge of his awareness he was still hearing the voices of his brothers and the noises of the horses, but it was making no sense at all.

He felt dizzy and exhausted, his eyelids heavy, as were his limbs. His head was also feeling too heavy to hold upright, and his fingers were turning clumsy. For another little moment he wondered what could be wrong with him, before he tried to mobilize his reserves, but there were none left. He couldn't even recognize if his brothers had noticed his bad condition because he lacked the energy to look up at them.

Eventually, Athos couldn't fight it anymore and he gave into the darkness that promised freedom from his pain and let himself drift away.

*14AAA41*

Aramis and d'Artagnan were riding on either side of Athos, and one moment everything seemed fine, the next, they were sharing a worried glance as their brother slid silently from his horse.

"Aramis!" the Gascon shouted, jumping from his mare, while the marksman gripped the abandoned reins to stop the horses from running away.

The youngest musketeer arrived in time to prevent Athos from hitting the ground hard, and with the limp weight of his leader in his arms, d'Artagnan stumbled and struggled as his mentor slid slowly off his horse, trying to bring him to the ground gently. Only seconds later Aramis was at his side, searching for a pulse at Athos' neck.

"Is he alive?" the Gascon asked anxiously, holding Athos in his arms.

"Yes. But his pulse is weak and his breathing is uneven. Something is definitely very wrong, he must be injured."

"Hey, what's going on here?" asked Porthos, startling them. Neither Aramis nor d'Artagnan had noticed that he and the Captain had turned around. "What's wrong with Athos?"

"Don't know," d'Artagnan answered, while Aramis palpated the unconscious man's body. "He collapsed and dropped off his horse. I was barely able to catch him."

"Aramis?" Porthos pressed for an answer.

"Damn!" The Spaniard's curse startled them, and seeing the blood stain on his right hand didn't make things better.

"What is it?" The youngest wanted to know.

"Porthos, can you raise him? I have to look at his back." Aramis concentrated on his patient, ignoring the question.

Without hesitation, Porthos went down to his knees, gripped Athos under his armpits and pulled him up to his chest. Immediately, the medic pushed Athos' cloak away, dragged the injured man's shirt out of his breeches and pulled it up. The sight made him inhale sharply. "Damn."

Athos' left, lower back and his flank were a big bruise, swollen and shining an angry red. And right above the bruise, just under his ribs, was a little round wound, marked by a small amount of dried blood.

"He's been stabbed," stated d'Artagnan, fully understanding Aramis' reaction as he looked at his brother's back as well.

Aramis nodded. "Based on the location and the look of it, the dagger might have hit his kidney. He might be bleeding internally." Aramis dropped his head and shook it lightly, his exacerbation evident. "Stubborn idiot."

"But shouldn't there be more blood if the injury is that grave?" Porthos asked.

"Not if it was inflicted by a small dagger. If the entry wound's small enough it might have closed mostly on its own," the medic explained.

For a moment there was nothing more than shocked silence. Then Aramis looked up and smiled briefly as his bag with supplies suddenly appeared at his right side, given by the Captain's hand. D'Artagnan smiled at him, thankful for his quick thinking, and realized that the man had stayed in the background fully aware that something was going wrong, but not wishing to interfere before it really was needed. And his timing had been perfect.

"Do you need something else? Water? A Fire?" Treville asked.

"Thank you, but no. There's not much more I can do for him, other than bandage him. It should hold till we get him to a proper physician..." Aramis' voice faded and the Gascon saw him swallowing thickly.

"We must hurry back to Paris," the medic continued, before stopping again and obviously concentrating on his hands. Carefully, he folded one of the linens, pushed it against the unremarkable, yet dangerous wound, and gave d'Artagnan a nod, silently asking him to take hold of the cloth so he could wrap the bandages around Athos' middle.

Pure anxiety allowed the Gascon's voice to crack while he stared at the motionless man in front of him. "What do you mean, there's nothing else to do, you just said he was bleeding? Will he even survive the trip back?"

The medic gingerly touched one of his younger brother's arms. "This wound is beyond my skill, d'Artagnan. There's no other choice than to take him back to Paris as soon as possible. He simply has to hold on as long as he needs." While speaking, Aramis guided d'Artagnan's slightly shivering hand back to the linen clothes being used as bandages.

So unnerved by his mentor's condition, the younger musketeer hadn't even noticed his hand had strayed. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and resumed pressing the cloth onto Athos' back.

The moan that came from Athos made them all flinch, causing Porthos to grip his burden a bit more firmly to his chest, and Aramis to hurry with his bandaging. When they were done, and the wounded musketeer was laid back gently onto d'Artagnan's lap, he uttered a small cry, making his brothers look at him hopefully.

The Spaniard softly patted his brother's face. "Athos? Are you with us?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone, who's following or favouring this story! And to those reviewers I can't respond to personally, your comments are really appreciated.

On we go!

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.

.

 **Chapter Two**

 _Why did Catherine save me?... Me... She should have left me hanging there... That was, what I deserved... God, it hurts... The boy should have killed me... Why did I fight him?... Why couldn't I surrender?... It would have been so easy... So much pain... Why didn't Catherine shoot me?... Why wasn't it me who got hit?... For all I've done... for all the pain I've caused... Pain... I've failed... failed my brother... my wife... my duty... I've run away... run... RUN.._

*14AAA41*

"Athos..." d'Artagnan called. "Can you hear me?"

The older man's eyelids fluttered, his head moved, but as he tried to sit up, a white hot pain seared through his back. He couldn't help but cry out, clenching his hands into fists and squishing his eyes shut. Every part of his body was hurting, every little movement was causing more pain, even his breathing was affected.

He focused on the pain in his left back as it sapped every little bit of composure he had left. Soon he was struggling for air, unable to breathe, and getting closer to a state of panic.

"Sh, sh." There were hands on his chest, another cupping his cheek. "You must breathe, Athos. I know it's hurting, but you have to try. Look at me and breathe," commanded a well-known voice.

Athos forced his eyelids open and focused on the face in front of him, pleading silently for help.

"There you are. Good." Aramis gave him a little smile, than he took his hand and put it on his own chest. "Breathe with me, come on."

Athos breathed with his friend, but it took awhile for his gasping and unsteady breathing to return to normal.

Eventually, he was able to bring in enough air into his burning lungs, and his concentration on the task helped to ease his pain. When the pain finally decreased from infernal to just bearable, he realised that the hand on his face was definitely not their medic's.

Trying to look back, he shifted a little and froze, letting out a hiss of pain.

*14AAA41*

"Don't move, Athos," the familiar voice of his little brother told him, softly stroking his cheekbone.

"D'Artagnan," whispered the former comte.

"It's good to hear your voice," the younger stated. "You had me quite scared." Grinning at his mentor's questioning look he went on. "As usual, you said nothing about your injuries, but simply dropped from your horse."

Athos smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," he whispered.

"No problem," the Gascon teased. "I had plenty of time to catch you."

A small laugh escaped Athos' lips followed by another hiss of pain.

"With your wounds, I suggest you avoid laughing for the moment," Aramis chimed in. "You've been stabbed, although I can't recall when that happened."

Athos frowned, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to remember. "End of the duel... barely not'ced ... stung.. stung a li'le, but nothing... nothin' important... Thought it just a scratch," he explained after a short while, slurring his words as he was forced to take breaks for breathing.

"It's obviously more than a scratch. There's a big bruise on your back and I'm quite sure you're bleeding internally. We must get you back to Paris as fast as possible. I'd rather avoid you riding horseback, but there is no other choice," the medic's voice sounded equally upset and concerned.

"I'll ride ahead and fetch the physician," stated Treville, reminding all of them of his presence with his unexpected offer.

Aramis and Porthos exchanged a quick glance before Porthos stood up. But the Captain waved off the insinuated offer. "No need for company. We're no more than an hour ride from Paris, half if I push the horse. You'll be more helpful here taking care of Athos. I'll see you at the garrison." Treville said nothing further, mounted his horse and set off toward Paris.

Listening to the conversation, and noticing traces of concern on his brothers' faces, Athos realized his situation was much worse than he initially thought. "That bad?" he asked quietly.

"Worse," was the only answer he received from Aramis. "And it will hurt like hell," the medic added, rising to his feet and sharing a sorrowful look with d'Artagnan.

"Can't you give him something for the pain?" the younger asked.

Sighing, their medic shook his head. "Sorry, but no. He will need all the adrenalin his body can provide, even if it's caused by pain. Any draught I can make will not only lighten the pain, but also calm his body down. And that is something I must not risk. I'm sorry, Athos." Looking down to his injured brother, Aramis received a brief nod of understanding back.

But d'Artagnan wasn't content yet. "I'm still not sure this is a good idea."

"It isn't," the medic replied. "But there's no other option. We have to go."

The Gascon held his breath, trying to calm his increasing concern for Athos' survival, before he breathed deeply and nodded his willingness. "Alright, I'll take him."

"I'm fine. I can ride on my own," Athos stated, hating the weakness of his voice. He had felt his apprentice's anxiety, so he'd tried to make a strong impression, but was betrayed by his body.

"I assure you, you won't even reach your horse without help. Not to mention riding on your own," the marksman growled.

The wounded man swallowed hard and then gathered himself. "Help me up, Porthos."

Porthos looked over at Aramis, who had fetched the Gascon's horse. The medic gave him a short nod.

With Aramis' authority, the big man gripped his friend under his armpits. "Here we go," he said, as he hoisted him to his feet.

As he was raised, Athos tensed and let out a pained groan, making his three brothers cringe.

"God... I'm sorry, Athos, so sorry," Porthos apologised, tightening his grip to keep him upright, while d'Artagnan leapt up and hurried to assist.

*14AAA41*

Black dots were dancing in front of Athos' eyes. The sudden increase of pain left him panting for breath and made his knees buckle. Had it not been for Porthos, he would have collapsed.

Fighting against the imminent unconsciousness he concentrated on regulating his breathing.

"Athos?"

The soft and concerned voice of his little brother gave him the needed energy to push away most of the pain. And the hands d'Artagnan laid on his back grounded him.

"I can handle it," he croaked.

"I'm surprised you didn't say that you're fine," Aramis scoffed, gesturing to d'Artagnan to mount his mare.

The former comte merely glared at him and carefully straightened himself. Giving a short nod to Porthos he allowed himself to be guided over to d'Artagnan's black horse. Looking up to the waiting Gascon he sighed, recognizing that he wouldn't be able to climb up there on his own.

"We'll help you up," Aramis stated.

Being manhandled onto a horse was embarrassing, but Athos had to accept that he had no choice. Bracing himself for the coming pain, he nodded.

It was painful already as he was lifted up by Porthos, and when d'Artagnan gripped him under his armpits to drag him up further, he couldn't stifle the small cry escaping his lips. But he immediately gritted his teeth to prevent himself from crying out again.

When Aramis finally pushed one of his legs over the horse's neck Athos was barely conscious. Again there were black dots dancing before his eyelids as he clenched them tight. He felt lightheaded once again and struggled to push back the seduction of unconsciousness.

"I've got you," their youngest assured him, while tightening his grip carefully, not willing to cause him further pain.

Athos allowed himself to be dragged up to, and against, his little brother's chest, then he let his head fall back while a small groan escaped his lips.

"Athos?" the younger man called.

"Has he passed out already?" Aramis' asked, his voice sounding worried and already knowing the answer.

"No," grunted Athos, forcing his eyelids open, but in too much pain and far too exhausted to lift his head. "I'm fine."

Hearing the well-known, but as always simply false statement, the medic huffed ironically. "Go," he commanded d'Artagnan. "Start slowly and we'll follow."

"Try to relax, Athos, I'll hold you," the Gascon ensured his wounded friend, as they started forward.

"I know," Athos retorted, putting his hand on his brother's arm and taking a deep breath. He flinched as the movement amplified the throbbing pain in his back and flinched again when the horse started to walk, unable to suppress another groan.

"Sorry," d'Artagnan whispered.

"Don't worry, d'Artagnan, it's not your fault. I'll bear it," he answered.

Leaning against the younger man and sensing the warmth radiating from his skin, the swordsman shuddered, suddenly feeling cold. He huddled up against his brother a little bit more, attempting to get warm, and hissed when the movement worsened the aching.

His keeper reacted instinctively by tightening his grip, holding him as firmly as he dared to his body to make him more comfortable. "You alright?"

"Cold," muttered Athos, before he again shivered, this time more violently. The trembling elicited another pained groan and he grabbed his brother's arm to ground himself.

"I've got you," d'Artagnan repeated, tightening his grip for barely a second before easing it again.

"Mh-hm," the injured man muttered, showing his absolute trust as he allowed his body to rest against his little brother's chest.

*14AAA41*

Somewhat reassured by feeling Athos' grip on his limb, the Gascon took a deep breath while encouraging his horse onward. He fully noticed the tension and uneasy breathing of the injured man's body, and he regretted that his friend had to endure the ride. Although he silently wished his brother would pass out, the continuous shivers and cold touch of his human burden made him worry.

He looked over to Aramis, who was riding to their left.

"He's shivering and quite cold to the touch," d'Artagnan told their medic.

Aramis nodded, his expression full of concern. "He must have lost quite an amount of blood already, given the huge bruise on his back, so he might be going into shock. You have to keep him awake as long as possible, d'Artagnan," he instructed. "If he falls unconscious..." Aramis let his words trail off, seemingly unable to say the words aloud, they both we're not daring to even think about.

*14AAA41*

Whilst the musketeers were slowly making their way to Paris, the Captain had already arrived at the garrison. He jumped of off his horse, tossing the reins to one of his approaching men, and began shouting commands.

"Michel," he called to one of his musketeers. "Go and call Dr. Lemay. He will be needed soon."

"On my way, Captain," the musketeer answered without question and went off.

Treville watched his obedience gratefully, although the king had him discharged, his men still behaved like he was still their commanding officer. They even couldn't stop calling him Captain. "You two," he pointed out two of the other waiting man, "prepare the infirmary, stoke the fire, and get water boiling," he continued.

The two he had ordered to the infirmary also left immediately, but others still waited in the yard. With a sigh Treville resigned to give them a short explanation, knowing about their concern for their fellows.

"Athos is severely wounded, maybe life- threatening. The others are taking care of him, trying to bring him home safe. We can do nothing but wait, so I need you to go back to your duties. Now..."

Watching his men leave, the acting Captain made his way to the office he still kept. He sat himself down behind his desk and ran a hand down his face. He was exhausted, and feeling a little helpless. All he could do now was follow his own advice and wait.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to everyone who's following or favouring this story! And also my thanks to these 'guests' who left a review!_

 _I hope all of you'll stick with me and the boys during the next chaps..._

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 _._

 _._

 **Chapter Three**

More than half an hour later the musketeers could finally see the walls of Paris.

Aramis sighed with relief; it seemed they would be able to get back in time, because Athos was still awake, thanks to d'Artagnan. The Gascon had managed to keep the wounded man conscious by constantly talking to him and making him answer. No long sentences of course, that would have been uncharacteristic for Athos, but rather single words, sometimes uttered quite breathless, however audible.

*14AAA41*

D'Artagnan cast a glance to the silhouette of the city, then concentrated again on his task. The bad feeling in his gut had grown in the last couple of minutes, for Athos' condition seemed to be getting worse by the minute. Although his mentor's shivers had lessened, his body was feeling increasingly cold to the touch. Even with his minor medical knowledge, he was sure that couldn't be a good thing.

His concern became reality when he felt the tension suddenly leave the older man's body.

"Athos? Are you still with me? Athos..?" he asked worriedly.

"S'ry, d'Art..." the swordsman croaked, and then went completely still.

"No! Don't dare leave me like this! Don't give up!" the Gascon yelled, but received no reaction. Noting Athos loosening his grip on his arm and his head lolling to the side, he spurred his horse, changing from an easy trot to canter.

"D'Artagnan, what's wrong?" Porthos shouted, encouraging his own horse to keep up.

"Athos passed out," the Gascon explained.

"Damn!" Aramis cursed, looking over to Porthos who nodded his understanding.

"I'll go ahead and clear the way," the burly musketeer shouted while passing the others. He drove his horse into a full gallop, not caring about the people on the street as they jumped out of his way.

The medic directed his horse nearer to his two brothers watching them with increasing apprehension. Athos' limp figure was firmly held by their little brother, who's hand was resting on the swordsman's chest. Aramis watched the varying expressions on d'Artagnan's face, from deeply worried, to concentrated, then to quite relieved, when the boy finally looked over to him.

"He's still breathing," the Gascon stated.

"Thank, God," Aramis sighed. "But best we hurry."

*14AAA41*

 _So that's how it feels... it doesn't hurt... it's not frightening... it's just... Nothing...No beginning... no end... nothing... Maybe I just leave?... Why not go?... Why not choose the easy way?... Isn't this what I was looking for when I came to Paris?... Oblivion?... Redemption?..._

*14AAA41*

Treville had been looking through the papers on his desk, trying to get his mind off his concern for Athos'. The idle time seemed to be endless, without hearing a word from the outside. Even the doctor hadn't arrived yet, so he started to worry about having wasted time and thought perhaps calling another physician. After all, Lemay was the king's private physician so he might not be able to come.

His concern was just starting to change into panic when he heard a knock at the door.

"Come in," he barked.

When the door opened hesitantly, he looked up and saw Michel, the musketeer he had sent to fetch the physician. He looked somewhat anxious, and behind him stood a figure that was, unfortunately, not Dr. Lemay.

"Where's the doctor?" he growled.

The stranger stepped forward before any introductions could be made, and to Treville's surprise, it was a woman.

"Dr. Lemay has business with the King and is indispensable. My name is Elinja bint Amin. I'm his guest, and a Persian healer. My father was Dr. Lemay's teacher," the woman explained.

"I need a physician, not an enchantress," the Captain retorted, untypically rude.

Ignoring his behaviour, the woman smiled. "Then it is a good thing I am here."

Pushing back his chair, Treville got to his feet and walked around the desk, surveying the woman. "You are going to tell me that you're capable of treating a severely injured musketeer? Forgive me if I cannot believe that."

"Do you want to waste precious time discussing my skills?" she retorted, still not impressed by his impolite manner.

Treville turned away, casting an angry glance at the waiting musketeer. "Go, call Dr. Pernault. At least he is an educated man... he can't make matters worse," he murmured while returning behind his desk.

"But..." Michel started to object, but abruptly stopped when he caught his Captain's glare, then spun around and left.

Treville sat down again, casting his uninvited guest a short glace, and then simply ignored the woman in his room, supposing that she wouldn't stay much longer if she felt unwelcome.

Elinja shook her head, feeling rather disappointed. Of course, she was a stranger to the Captain, he didn't know her and he surely didn't know her skills. So it was not surprising that he didn't trust her with the life of his man. Or was his distrust caused by the fact that she was a woman? Or because she wasn't French?

With a sigh, she silently left the room, not quite sure if she should really leave or maybe simply dawdle a bit, for the wounded man might arrive every minute. She had felt Treville's concern for him, as clear as she had felt his anger towards her and this Michel, so she couldn't be angry with the Captain.

While pondering her options she had reached the stairs, which she just started to descend when the noise of thundering hooves sounded, making her stop dead.

*14AAA41*

"Captain!" boomed Porthos' voice.

Cursing his misfortune, Treville immediately left his office and stopped at the balcony. "Where are the others?" he asked tersely, when he noticed the two horses, but only one rider below.

"A couple of minutes behind. Dr. Lemay?" Porthos queried as he dismounted.

"Indisposed... Michel's gone calling for Dr. Pernault instead."

"Aramis won't like that," Porthos grumbled, tossing the reins of his and Athos' horses over to the stable boy.

"We have no other opt..." the Captain's apology was interrupted by the arrival of two other horses, one carrying two riders.

"Is everything ready?" questioned Aramis, as he dismounted. He hurried over to d'Artagnan, Porthos on his heels, and the two of them carefully manhandled their unconscious brother from the horse.

"No..." grunted Porthos, while holding Athos' upper body to his chest, "Doc's not 'ere, he's indisposed."

"Damm!" the medic cursed, as d'Artagnan lifted the former comte's legs. "However, we need to take him to the infirmary, so I can check him over."

"Captain said he'd call on Pernault," Porthos added, walking over to the stairs, mindful of his burden.

Aramis froze then shook his head. "No! I won't let that butcher anywhere near Athos. He'll surely kill him!" Clenching his hands into fists, he took a deep breath while his brothers continued to carry Athos across the yard. "I'd rather try taking care of him myself," he whispered in silent despair.

*14AAA41*

Elinja had watched the arrival of the musketeers as she stood waiting half way down the staircase. She could sense their anxiety and noted perceptively how they dealt with their unconscious friend. She saw them exercising the greatest of care, almost tenderness. And whilst they carried him past her, she was able to take a closer look at the wounded man, she assumed was Athos.

She immediately realized the severity of the man's injury; his paleness, his motionless and the glistening sweat on his face; but she also noticed the lack of visible blood. She also saw no entry wound on his upper body, so he most probably had been shot or stabbed in the back. Adding that to the concerned look his friends wore on their faces, and the fact that Dr. Lemay was urgently called, but not available, she concluded that the patient must be bleeding internally and that he had been for quite some time. That left a kidney injury as the likeliest option, an injury that surely would kill the musketeer if not treated immediately.

Lemay had told her stories about the Inseparables he had overheard, about their loyalty to the king and the bond between them. But she had learned much more from Constance, the woman who sometimes helped Lemay, and whom she knew was related to the youngest of the four. The stories kindled in her the sincere wish to meet those men and when the musketeer had come knocking on Lemay's door she hadn't hesitated. Despite the risk she was taking, for she was a women and a foreigner, she had followed the man without doubts.

The Persian surveyed the last man following the others with heavy steps, like carrying a load far too heavy on his back, and assumed that must be Aramis, the marksman and field medic. Passing her he glanced towards her, seemingly curious about her presence, but nonetheless giving her a brief smile before his expression darkened again as he focused on the task waiting for him. The short eye contact had been enough for her to see his fear, his certainty that he wasn't skilled enough to save his brother's life. He must know that Athos most surely would die without further help and nonetheless he was willing to try and to take on the burden.

That made her decision easy. Instead of leaving the garrison because of the Captain's lack of faith, she would follow them and do everything she could to help save Athos' life. A man loved that deeply by his friends was surely worth saving. As for the little problem of convincing the soldiers in front of her to let her help, she figured it would be worth her efforts, regardless of their attitudes. She had dealt with stubborn idiots before, and she could handle it again, even with these French mules.

*14AAA41*

"Put him on the table," Aramis instructed, scanning the room and checking the preparations done by his fellow musketeers.

The infirmary was nearly as bright as the day outside, every oil lamp lit, candles flickering in their holders. The fire was stoked, water boiling in a cauldron and buckets with cold water were laid out. There were also linens and spirits waiting for use.

Porthos and d'Artagnan carefully laid Athos down on a table covered with a white blanket, both looking worried as their friend showed no reaction. There was no moaning, no stirring, no little sign of him regaining consciousness. Staring intensely at his unmoving form, they both sighed, watching the tiny movement of his chest, the only sign of life they could notice. They retreated a bit, giving way for their medic, who had disposed of his hat, doffed his doublet and pushed up his shirtsleeves.

The Spaniard was all but certain that Athos' injuries were beyond his skills. His cracked ribs merely indicated a minor problem at the moment, but the bruising on his back suggested a kidney injury; possibly severe enough to cause an internal bleed. The original stab-wound seemed to have closed on its own, at least partly, and was probably the only reason for Athos still being alive, because otherwise he would have bled to death hours ago.

The medic stood back, nervous anxiety coursing through him. Surgery like this was beyond his capabilities and he began to question whether or not he was qualified to proceed. Cutting into someone's back, cauterisation… the mere thought of such procedures made his hands shake. But Athos' life was at stake, so Aramis knew he would have to pull himself together and do what had to be done… and pray his inexperience did not cause his friend to bleed to death on the table.

"Aramis?" The anxious voice of the Gascon made him turn, abruptly ending his dark thoughts. "Tell us what to do..."

"God... please help me," the medic uttered, before taking a deep breath and steeling himself for the upcoming task. He was just starting to give orders when the door to the room darkened, the light from outside blocked by an unknown figure.

"God is probably indisposed at the moment, but if you allow me to help..." a female voice answered his prayer.

"I told you, you're not needed," grumbled Treville, who had followed his men and had been waiting outside the door. "Dr. Pernault will arrive soon, so there's no need for you to stay."

Elinja didn't even cringe. She was already very familiar with the Captain's rude, albeit protective, behaviour, so she simply moved on and looked Aramis straight in the eyes, slightly touching his forearm, what didn't go unnoticed by Porthos.

 _I should be used to it_ , the burly musketeer thought with a small grin, _but it still amazes me that women can't resist the urge._

"Your friend looks deathly pale and his skin is clammy, so I assume he has lost a lot of blood, maybe too much. For there is no visible blood on his shirt, he might be bleeding internally. Moreover, I can't see an entry wound so I presume he has been shot or stabbed in the back, which can indicate a kidney injury. And because you all look extremely exhausted, this happened quite awhile ago. He's not dead now, but very soon he might be if we do not stop the bleeding."

"Who are you?" an astonished Aramis managed to ask, taking a small step to the side to regain his balance. A sudden giddiness had attacked him out of nowhere, now leaving him as quickly as it had hit him.

"I'm a guest of Dr. Lemay, a Persian medic. My name is Elinja. But do you want to chat or save your friend's life?"

"Aramis...you can't let this woman get near Athos," cautioned Porthos. "We don't know her, don't know anythin' about her skills."

"She can't possibly make things worse than that so-called Doctor Pernault," the medic protested, disdain clear in his voice. "And she diagnosed Athos' condition simply by looking at him," he continued, again making eye contact with the small woman in front of him, which still touched his arm. "I saw you waiting on the stairs, didn't I?"

Elinja nodded, then moved closer to the table with the wounded musketeer. D'Artagnan and Porthos tried to stop her, but Aramis turned and shot them a glare.

"I'm not skilled enough for this," he said. "I cannot save him. But she might be able to." The desperation was evident in his voice, so both the musketeers lifted their hands and retreated immediately.

"If you trust her, so do we," their youngest confirmed, Porthos nodding his agreement. "How can we help?"

"I can't believe this is happening." Treville's voice sounded upset. "I won't allow..."

"Athos is dying, Captain!" interrupted Aramis, his despair palpable. "She's his only chance. Please stand aside. I will assume full responsibility."

Treville still hesitated, pondering his options. But when his gaze met Aramis', he noticed the fear in the Spaniard's eyes and nodded reluctantly. "Right, you're the medic. Do what you can do, I'll wait outside." He walked to the door, then turned back. "And Aramis..."

The marksman turned, his eyes questioning.

"You needn't assume responsibility," the former Captain declared. "That's my job."


	4. Chapter 4

_First of all:_ _A great thanks to all of you who are following and favouriting this story! I'm walking around the half of the day with a happy smile on my face. Also, thank you to those of you, to whom I cannot respond personally. Your reviews are really appreciated! I'm absolutely stunned about the approval this story gets so far. THANK YOU!_

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 **Chapter Four**

Feeling somewhat alleviated, Aramis turned his gaze back to Elinja. "You've done this before?" he questioned.

The woman nodded brusquely. "Not long ago, although I was able to tend to the wounded man much earlier. But if your friend's strong and so is his will to survive, there's still a chance."

"So what are you going to do? And how can we help?" the sharpshooter asked.

Elinja took her cloak off and tossed it on a nearby chair. "First of all I must take a better look at him, to know exactly where the bleeding is. Maybe you can put him on his not injured side?"

"Of course," Aramis answered before he nodded to his brothers to help him. Together they turned their unconscious friend onto his right side, each of them silently apologising for causing additional pain. When Athos didn't even stir during their ministrations, Aramis frowned.

"He's deeply unconscious," he murmured, "that's alarming."

Porthos and d'Artagnan, who were holding Athos in position, lifted their heads, their faces mirroring their great worry. But they stayed silent, none of them wanting to put more pressure on their medic. Aramis yet looked like he might crumble under the weight of his responsibility.

Elinja, who had heard Aramis' murmured words, pushed up her sleeves and walked to the operating table. Gently lifting Athos' shirt, she reached for scissors from a nearby table and cut the bandages. Pulling the linen away she inhaled sharply when she got her first good look at Athos' back and side.

"Ya 'iilhi," she uttered under her breath. But she immediately regained her composure and probed gently at the terrible looking area. Noticing the little stab wound right under Athos' ribs, and the extent of the bruise covering the main part of the left side of his lower torso, she felt certain about her diagnosis.

Looking up, she crossed eyes with Aramis. "This bruising looks very much like a kidney injury. Adding the position of the stab wound to it, I'm sure of it. We have to hurry."

She reached into the pouch she was wearing on her belt and took out some little black grains that resembled dried fleas. After looking at the unconscious man in front of her she counted out a small amount of them in her hand and put the others back.

Aramis watched in awestruck silence, recognizing them as the strongest analgesic he knew- a painkiller known well in the east, but for quite a long time banished in catholic reigned lands. The church formerly believed that suffering was a punishment from god, so they condoned all medicines capable of ending human suffering. Despite that, most physicians made use of it regardless of the consequences. However, the medic had never seen anyone using the original form of it, mostly it was used as a tincture- Laudanum- mixed with wine and some other herbs.

"Is this Opium?" he asked, needing to be sure.

"It is," Elinja confirmed. "It's much stronger than Laudanum and easier to carry around. But I don't dare give him as much as he might need to stay absolutely still. His body is weak from the blood loss and if I overdose him, his circulation might break down."

"I understand," the medic said, moving to lift Athos head a little bit. "Porthos get a cup of water," he ordered. Then holding the wounded man's head in his arm he opened his mouth with his free hand, giving Elinja better access.

"Thank you," the Persian replied, putting the grains onto the Comte's tongue. After that, she took the cup from Porthos and poured little sips of water into Athos' mouth, watching him instinctively swallow. Satisfied with the result of her efforts she nodded to Aramis, who then gently laid his brother back down.

Looking up to his friends, Aramis saw the unasked questions on both their faces. "Opium is a very strong painkiller, the base material of Laudanum. It's from a plant that grows in the East. But you have to be careful with it. Given too much, the patient will stop breathing or, like in this case, the circulation will slow down. Athos' body is only running on reserves, so if she relaxes him too much it will simply stop working altogether."

Nodding to his explanation, Elinja then commanded the two other musketeers. "Put some pillows beneath his pelvis to stretch his flank. This will allow me a better access to his kidney. Keep him near the edge of the table, so we needn't have to reach out too far. You must hold him in this position and not let him move, for it's a difficult surgery we're going to perform."

"Understood." D'Artagnan fetched a couple of pillows from one of the beds and put it on the table. Then he and Porthos carefully pushed Athos nearer to the edge, before Porthos lifted Athos' middle up to allow the younger man to shove the pillows beneath his pelvis. After that, the dark skinned musketeer simply maintained his position, fixing his friends lower body in place. Meanwhile the Gascon moved to his mentor's shoulders, securing them and clutching his arms.

"Well done," Elinja praised them.

She and Aramis had washed their hands with hot water first, and afterwards doused them with spirits. Now they were preparing the instruments they would need; knives, clamps, retractors and needle and threat of course, cleaning them all and lining them up on a white piece of linen. The cautery knives came to rest on a glowing coal in a separate bowl, heating up and slowly changing colour from steel to glooming red.

"One last caution," Elinja said, as she stood at the table, knife in hand and ready to begin. "This will be bloody work, so if you cannot watch this..."

"We'll stay," Porthos assured her, d'Artagnan giving a confirming nod. "Athos is our brother; we'll do what we have to do to save his life."

Smiling briefly, the healer exchanged glances with Aramis. "I'll cut, you'll open the wound further," she started. "First, we'll make our way to the kidney, me cutting the flesh, you cauterising the larger bleeds. We must hurry because once the pressure is taken from the wound the bleeding will increase. As soon as we've reached our target, you take hold of the edges of the wound, so I can search for the injury and cauterise it. When that is done, we close the deeper layers and seam up the muscles and fascia before we make an incision in the middle of his back to open a way for the blood to drain. We'll have to squeeze it out and afterwards pour the wound with spirits and clean water. Nothing of the hematoma must be left for otherwise it will become infected."

Breathing deeply, the Spaniard steeled himself and bowed his head, "Understood."

Elinja gave him a sympathetic glance. "Right," she said, and then she locked her gaze on Porthos and d'Artagnan. "One of you must also assist Aramis by taking away the cooled blades and handing him a new glowing one. He has to concentrate on the surgery."

"I'll do it," Porthos said without hesitation. He and Aramis knew each other well and shared an unspoken bond. Words were not always needed between them, they simply trusted each other implicitly and instinctually. He pulled the bowl with the glowing knives nearer so that he could reach them without releasing his hold at on the wounded man.

"D'Artagnan," the healer addressed the youngest, "you will check his life-signs regularly. Aramis and I won't have the time to do that. And if..."

"I understand," the Gascon interrupted her, not wanting her to finish her sentence. "I'll watch over him."

*14AAA41*

 _Pain... Embracing me... Engulfing me... All-encompassing pain... Voices... Familiar voices... Brothers... Strange voice, unfamiliar... Strange presence... Touching my mind... Who are you?... What do you want?... Do you come after me?... Searching presence... Searching my mind... Reaching deep... Too deep... no... No!... Drifting... Drifting in blackness... Dark... Cold... Lifeless... Nothing..._

*14AAA41*

It took them more than two hours to finish the surgery. Whilst Elinja and Aramis had fully concentrated on cutting and burning their way through Athos' flesh, d'Artagnan and Porthos had not for a single second loosened their hold on their unconscious brother. The two of them had struggled with their nausea from time to time, but they both had managed to stay steady at his side, watching him breathing almost unnoticeably while d'Artagnan repeatedly checked his neck for a pulse.

The wounded musketeer had merely flinched at the beginning when he was not fully sedated. Thankfully, as the surgery progressed, he had remained still, with only his chest rising and falling softly with his strained breathing, making it easier for the physician to do her job. But none of them had been sure if his stillness was a good thing or not. Had he stopped moving because he no longer felt pain due to the effects of the opium, or because he was too far gone to have the energy to move?

There also had been an unthinkable amount of blood, neither of the musketeers being able to believe all of this had come from one person. And it had smelled horrible. The burnt flesh, the blood mixed with water; it was indescribable and so intense they could nearly taste the metallic, coppery bitterness on their tongues.

Now Athos was resting on one of the beds, his face pale, even whiter than the blankets he laid on, breathing disturbingly slow and uneven, pulse thready and his torso wrapped with bandages. Aramis was sitting at his side, holding one of his brother's hands, the other resting on his chest because he urgently needed to feel his heart beat. He knew how bad his brother's chances were, but as long as Athos was breathing he would never give up hope.

Meanwhile, Elinja was cleaning up, cleaning the instruments, collecting the bloody linens and wiping up water and blood from the floor. Whilst her hands worked automatically, her mind wondered about d'Artagnan's reactions during the surgery. She had noticed him grimacing and wincing every now and then, just as if he was sharing the pain, at least intermittently. And she had felt the barely noticeable disturbance of the unconscious man's motionlessness caused by the tiny movements of the young man. It had been easy to ignore, but she would remember for there was something special about those two men...

Porthos and d'Artagnan had fled from the infirmary as soon as Athos had been safe on his bed, feeling an urgent need for fresh air to avoid being sick. Both of them felt guilty for leaving their injured brother, but the smell in the room had been unbearable at the end.

Rushing outside they had met Treville and told him that Athos was still alive and that neither Aramis nor Elinja dared give any prognosis for his outcome right now. Leaning against a pillar just outside the archway, they took deep breaths, desperately trying to get rid of the smell and taste they had just experienced.

D'Artagnan felt weary to the bones; the suffering he just had witnessed, the pain he knew his beloved brother must be in, made him hurt, too. He sometimes even had thought he would feel the heat of the blade himself, what simply was impossible. So he abandoned that memory, putting it to his exhaustion. The complete day, and all the more the surgery, had drained his energy, but he stubbornly refused to show the tiniest sign of weakness.

Treville, who had stayed with them for awhile, was the first to see Elinja passing by, arms full with bloody linens and blankets, and had to swallow hard, knowing where it came from. D'Artagnan and Porthos turned their heads, and although they had been in the room, they also gulped visibly.

"You three are off duty as long as it takes," Treville told them briefly before he turned and followed the woman.

*14AAA41*

Treville went after Elinja, catching up with her when she stopped in the middle of the yard, looking around for a place to get rid of the bloody rubbish. She couldn't imagine anyone wishing to wash the blood- soaked stuff.

"Let me assist you with this," the Captain offered as a gesture of good will, apologising without speaking the words.

Wordlessly, she handed over the remnants of the surgery, watching him hurrying across the open place and disposing of them in an empty barrel. When he returned he offered her a wet towel, looking at her still bloody hands. "I thought you might have use for this."

"Thank you." Taking the towel she briefly touched his fingers before she rubbed her hands thoroughly.

He observed her ministrations, afterwards taking the now blood spotted fabric back. "I must say sorry for my earlier behaviour," he started. "Usually I'm not that ill-mannered, but..."

"You needn't apologize," she interrupted him. "I absolutely understand how concerned you've been. One of your men is at death's door, his survival still uncertain. I can sense how much he means to you. It's not just the four men over there," she pointed to the infirmary, "the Inseparables, who deeply care for each other. It's you also who's caring for all of them."

Caught off guard, Treville looked past her, keeping silent for some time.

"They still call you Captain," she continued, "although you're disgraced. And you're still feeling responsible. There's plenty of mutual respect amongst you and your men. A very strong bond..." she let her voice fade.

"You're quite an observant woman," he admitted, turning his eyes back on her face. "I admit my first impressions being wrong. Would you mind telling me what Athos' chances are like?"

Elinja sighed, tilting her head slightly. "At this time I cannot surely say that he will survive. The blood loss is substantial, and his condition is bad. The surgery went as expected. I was able to stop the bleeding without causing too much further damage to his kidney, so there is at least a little chance. First he has to survive the night, after that the wound must be watched for signs of infection and in the end we must hope that his kidney doesn't necrotize and poisons him inwardly. His body is that weak, it will take all his will to fight this. Then we mustn't forget his cracked ribs and associated with that, the possible damage to his lungs. And if he withstands all of it, he'll need a long recovery time for the wound to heal properly and for him to get his strength back."

"Thank you for being honest," Treville said, taking a slow, deep breath.

*14AAA41*

Aramis moved when Porthos and d'Artagnan re-entered the infirmary, opening his eyes and lifting his head. He was feeling completely exhausted, the bloody work he had been forced to do was taking its toll on him. Never before had he done something like this; cutting that deep into brotherly flesh, causing even more damage to save one from dying. His hands would be trembling if he couldn't hang on to Athos. He was mentally kicking himself for not perceiving his brother's injury earlier, and would have blustered into berating himself if his brothers hadn't just returned.

"You should take a rest," d'Artagnan stated, taking a place at the opposite side of the bed, gently putting his hand on his mentor's shoulder.

"Mh-hmm..."

"The pup's right, you're lookin' awful," Porthos chimed in. He had positioned himself at the end of the bed, clinging to one of Athos' legs.

Sighing, the medic successively looked them both in the eyes. "I don't dare leave him now," he confessed. "He is seriously ill. Maybe we should call for a priest..."

Stunned silence followed his statement, than D'Artagnan shook his head. "If you're going to say that Athos is..." his voice cracked and he couldn't finish the sentence.

Sadly, Aramis touched his little brother's hand, resting on Athos' shoulder. "D'Artagnan... Athos is seriously, no, he even might be, fatally, wounded. The possibility of his death is far higher than that of his survival. Although Elinja has done a great job, there are so many things that can still go wrong. But now there's nothing else to do other than sit and wait... and pray."

"So you've given up hope," d'Artagnan whispered brokenly.

"No," the medic protested. "No!" he repeated more loudly when the Gascon looked doubtingly. "As long as Athos' breathes I'll never give up hope. But I want him to be prepared, just in case..."

"See, whelp," Porthos came to Aramis' aid, "we know, how much you care for Athos. It's what we do. But if things go south... would you really want him to die without absolution?"

"No, of course not. But for me it feels like giving up all hope if we call a priest to perform the Anointing of the sick." D'Artagnan's voice still sounded weak as he spoke.

"We don't give up hope," Porthos made clear. "We never will. But Athos needs all the help he can get, and even if he has his dissensions with god, he's still catholic. Besides, I'm sure Aramis would appreciate a little support." He winked at the Spaniard, who was holding his rosary firmly in his free hand.

"Please, d'Artagnan," Aramis said in a half-loud voice. "To ease Athos' burden and to give him the strength to fight this..."


	5. Chapter 5

_And here we go again: Thanks to those guests, who kindly left reviews. I appreciate them. And also thanks, as always, to everyone who decided to_ _follow or favorite this story. I'm glad for your silent support. On we go!_

 _._

 _._

 **Chapter Five**

As so often was the case, Aramis got what he wanted. One of their fellow musketeers was sent calling upon a priest who administered extreme unction to Athos.

Despite never admitting it, Porthos and d'Artagnan were also somewhat relieved by listening to the priest, believing in the promise given by his words.

Aramis, for his part, was consoled by hearing the familiar words, and felt gladness about the knowledge that Athos, would it come to the worst, would pass in peace.

*14AAA41*

.

In the meantime, Elinja had been with the Captain, sharing a meal as they ate in silence. Afterwards, he had asked her into his office, trying to find out a little more about the woman who seemed like a godsend, for he knew too well that Dr. Pernault would never have been useful in saving Athos' life. The man was a doctor by name, not by skills.

Luckily, his musketeer had returned without the man, telling him that Pernault didn't even react to his knocking at his door. But he had seen him through the window, obviously drunk.

"So, you've met Dr. Lemay in Persia?" Treville asked, after pouring her a glass of water. The offered wine Elinja had rejected, making him realise his mistake immediately. He simply had forgotten about her religious commandments.

"Yes, my family lives in Ispahan. Five years ago Dr. Lemay came to finish his studies under my father's tutelage, for my father is well known for his skills in surgery and his exact knowledge in human anatomy even in Europe. Lemay stayed two years with my family and became like a brother to me."

"And you studied with him?"

With a smile, Elinja shook her head. "I finished my studies some years ago."

With an expression of surprise, Treville watched her more intensely, before he tilted his head. "Forgive me," he said.

"No apologies necessary," she replied.

"I suppose you're going to follow in your father's footsteps?" he continued, handing over the glass.

"Thank you," she said, touching his fingers when she took the glass from his hands. After taking a small sip, she spoke again. "At least I'll try. In Persia it is difficult as well for women to practise as a doctor. Doing it in a foreign country even can be dangerous." She looked him straight in the eyes, her gaze unwavering.

Feeling an unexpected hunch of understanding, Treville found himself letting the topic go. Instead, he felt an intense need to assure her that she was safe. "I neither care about the fact that you're female nor that you're not French. The only thing that matters is your skill, which you have proven. Athos is still alive."

Giving him a small nod of thanks she took the opportunity to ask him about the Inseparables, wanting to learn more about the strength of their bond. She could intuit in the men's eyes, in their behaviour, their posture, but that had been not much more than short glimpses. She only had snatched hints of feelings deep down under the surface: despair, loss and the wish to run on the one hand; concern and fear, but also steadfast hope on the other. It had been very confusing.

Returning back to reality from her wandering thoughts, she realised that Treville had already started to answer her question, but she simply had missed his beginning.

"These four men are brothers in all but blood, their bond even stronger. They would willingly die for each other without hesitation nor would they ever dare leave their brothers behind or let them give up on themselves," the Captain explained.

"Hmm... " replied Elinja. "But what if there are more reasons for one of them to leave than to stay? If he's just tired of fighting or deeply despaired? You remember, it'll be a hard fight for Athos, most of the time along the edge. Is their bond really strong enough to stop one of them from giving up?"

Stunned by her extrapolations, the Captain wondered how in the hell the woman in front of him might possibly know of Athos' past. He and the other three had learnt scarcely some months ago about the events that had caused Athos to abandon his estate and his birthright, and to attempt to drink himself into oblivion, maybe even to death. Had someone told her all that, or was she just extremely intuitive?

He remained silent for a few minutes as he contemplated her question. Not quite sure, but voicing his hope, he finally said, "I put all my faith in their brotherhood, to care for the one who's suffering and give him everything he needs to survive. They would never let him go that easy."

"Musketeers don't die easily," she confirmed, a sagacious smile appearing on her face.

Soon after that they had changed topic again, the Captain asking Elinja how life was like in Persia. She frankly had told him about her homeland, about its different, challenging nature, the opposites between the fruitful, blooming parts and the deserted, hot and stony regions, and about the people living there. But eventually she had felt the desire to make sure of her patient's condition, so she had excused herself from Treville's company and returned to the infirmary.

She had left the musketeers some privacy, sensing their need to come to terms with the dire situation, but now it was time to look after Athos. Elinja also hadn't forgotten how Aramis had watched her strictly while she was dealing his Athos' wound. She supposed he must have had many questions, but had pushed them aside to not disturb her concentration. Instead he had assisted her with great skill and had been decisive for in the success of the surgery.

*14AAA41*

.

Elinja quietly closed the door behind her, not wishing to startle any of Athos' brothers still keeping vigil around him. _I should have known better than trying to sneak in,_ she thought with a smirk, when Porthos turned his head and gave her an acknowledging nod. His movement brought the others to attention so she crossed the room to consort with them.

"Any change?" she asked in a low voice.

"No, he hasn't even stirred yet. His heartbeat is unsteady, too fast and quite weak, his breath still uneven and much to slow for my liking," Aramis answered.

Gently she reached for the lying man's throat, palpating the pulse. Giving a weary nod she sighed. "It might have been too late..."

"No!" d'Artagnan shouted, lifting his head abruptly and giving her an intense stare. "Don't dare say that! Athos will not..." his voice cracked and he had to swallow hard, gulping back a sob.

Reaching out with his free hand, Porthos squeezed his little brother's shoulder. "Easy, d'Artagnan. He's a fighter, you know that. He won't leave us behind."

Changing the subject, the medic dragged another chair to the bed. "Take a seat," he invited Elinja. "I still have some questions."

"So why did I know that?" she teased, smiling warmly before sitting down at his side.

"Where did you learn this much about anatomy? Do you have schooling? What is medicine like in Persia, and are there as many restrictions and prejudices as here?" Aramis fired his questions in a quick sequence.

Chuckling at his eagerness, she noticed she was garnering the attention of all three men. "In my country," she answered, "there are some restrictions as well. But we do believe that Allah, in his mercy, gives us the ability to heal and to ease suffering, including pain. We are allowed to study the human body, anatomizing those deceased who donated themselves to science, and we have a great knowledge about herbs and their possibilities. I have learned everything I know from my father, for me being his only child. But similar to European conventions, in my homeland women are not allowed to go to school either. But my father accepted my desire to learn, and to help the ill and save life. I assisted him on my first anatomic exploration at 13 years old, and from then on I accompanied him whenever possible."

Too polite to ask about her age, Aramis thought about his next question, but was interrupted by d'Artagnan.

"So you've been doing this how long? Five years?" he asked directly, earning himself an annoyed stare from Aramis as the question insinuated her age.

"You know, it is impolite to ask about, or infer, a women's age," she teased him. When the Gascon's face flushed with embarrassment and he offered her an apologizing grin, she smiled and answered his question anyway. "I've been working with my father for about fifteen years now."

"You're kiddin'," Porthos called out. "You're not lookin' like..."

"Porthos..." Aramis stopped him, rolling his eyes concerning the impolite behaviour of his friends, before addressing their guest. "You must excuse my friends, Elinja. They never learned how to deal cordially with women, and under these circumstances they both seem to have forgotten their manners completely."

This statement made his brothers shoot him indignant looks.

"So you have gained plenty of experience?" continued Aramis.

"I've dealt with similar injuries many times over the years, but Athos is the first man still alive after such a long time of bleeding. He has great fortitude it seems."

Without hesitation, d'Artagnan nodded. "He's one of the strongest men I've ever met."

"I'm sure he is. He will need it and he'll need you," she replied.

The medic again decided to change the topic, the conversation was going in a dangerous direction. "The water you cleaned the wound with... it smelled sort of different. I think I know the scent, but I can't put my finger on it."

"I put Propolis in it," she explained.

"Propolis?" queried Aramis, unfamiliar with the word.

"It's from the beehive. Bees produce it to keep their home clean. We found out that it works very well against infection. It's a bit difficult to get as much as you may need, but it's worth every effort. It is likewise useful as an ointment, mixed with garlic essence and camomile."

Aramis scratched his chin as he pondered the implications of the medicine. "Hmm..."

The other two exchanged amused looks seeing the Spaniard's reaction. They both knew that their brother would go as soon as Athos was on the mend to find this 'Propolis'.

It was Porthos turn to ask the next question. Although he had found it very difficult to watch, he had observed attentively what was done with his brother. "I remember seeing Aramis stitching inside Athos, before you stitched him closed. How are they gonna come out?"

"Oh... Yes," Elinja replied, "I used thread made from tendons and bowels. Those will be absorbed after a while."

"Eerch..." Porthos made an indefinable noise, sounding disgusted.

"Yes, I remember having read about it. You cook them a while to clean them, and then the material becomes thinner and tighter. But one needs experience to use it well and I never had an opportunity to train," Aramis thoughtfully spoke. "At least, 'till today..."

Sensing his concern, Elinja gently laid a hand on his arm, the natural looking gesture making Porthos shake his head in amusement. "You did your very best, Aramis," she tried to comfort him. "As soon as you noticed, you slowed down the bleeding, you took him back to Paris as careful as was possible and you used your own skills to prevent him from dying immediately. There's nothing more you could have done. By the way... for someone who's learned about medicine simply by reading and performing on your own, you're very good. You're showing natural skill."

The feeling of dizziness, making the world in front of his eyes tilt ever so slightly, caught Aramis by surprise. He tried to blink it away and was even more astonished when it vanished as quickly as it had hit him. Maybe he had only been imagining it? With a mere shake of his head he concentrated again on the words Elinja had offered and although he wasn't entirely convinced, he suddenly felt much more relaxed.

With a huff Aramis offered a reluctant smile. "Thank you for the compliment," he said. "Do you think the extensiveness of the hematoma will cause further problems? Because there is now a big area where Athos' skin has been separated from the muscles. And what about his kidney? Not to mention the cracked ribs?"

The Persian contemplated for a few minutes. "You'll have to observe him strictly for any sign of fever, for the wound may become infected despite all our efforts, which would be fatal. There is also the danger of an internal infection stemming from the damaged kidney. And if it will regain the ability to function properly…? I don't know yet, therefore we only can wait. His ribs will still bother him when he's awake, making it difficult to breathe properly and creating the danger of pneumonia. As long as he's unconscious, that's a minor problem. But first, this night will be vital. If he survives, he might make it. And even then there will be days before he'll be out of the woods."

"We'll take shifts," d'Artagnan declared. "We will not leave him on his own until he's back with us."

"I didn't expect anything else," replied Elinja. "But first you all must rest. You're all looking really exhausted."

The Persian gently touched d'Artagnan's and Porthos' arms, and this time it was Porthos, who suddenly felt lightheaded. He barely had time to notice it, before it left him yet again. For merely a second he wondered why the small woman in front of him kept touching him and his brothers, but then the thought vanished as quickly as the dizziness had. Instead he felt himself ready to agree. They really should have a little break, they would be of more use if they had their wits about them. Looking over to his youngest brother he saw him blinking twice and then nodding. So d'Artagnan agreed as well...

With a content smile Elinja let go of the men's arms and gripped Aramis' hand, before she admonished him. "Aramis, you most of all need rest. In this condition you're of no use. None of you three are," the Persian concluded, pre-empting their protest. "Eat, drink, relax a little, at least try to. Then come back. I will watch your friend as carefully as I would watch my own father." She didn't suggest sleep to them, because she knew, none of them would be able to.

The three musketeers looked at each other, stunned by her determination and her power of persuasion. Not thinking about arguing any more, they slowly let go of their brother and stood up. Nothing happened, of course. Athos didn't stir, nor did he show any reaction at all. But what had they expected? He was still unconscious.

"Go!" Elinja urged. "If there's the smallest change I'll call you."

*14AAA41*

.

 _Who's there?... What do you want?... Go away!... No!... You're not allowed to be here... It's my mind... My thoughts... My dark past..._ _Why you're worried?... Why you're frightened?... You're frightening me... Am I going to die?... I must not... Can I?... Can I go?... Do you show me the way?..._ _No, not there... Don't go there!... Go away!... Leave me be!... No!... Pain... Fear... Agony... Worry... But not mine... Who are you?... What are you doing here?... Who sent you?... Are you taking me with you?... You're uncanny... Your presence isn't natural... I'm scared..._

*14AAA41*

.

They had left unwillingly, each of them sensing the urgent feeling to be needed at his brother's side. But Elinja had been absolutely right. They all felt weary to the bones, especially now while they were sitting at their usual table, merely picking at the food Serge had brought them, while deeply rapt in their worries. Every one of them was aware of the fact that Athos might not last the night, but none would dare say it aloud.

Porthos was the first to push his plate away, watching his two brothers intensely. Considering d'Artagnan's expressions, the boy was dealing with self-reproaches. The pup looked very similar to when his father had just died. When he looked over to Aramis, he found a similar expression on his oldest friend's face. With a sigh he decided to put a stop to their self-recrimination.

"Stop it!"

Porthos' voice permeating their thoughts, Aramis and d'Artagnan simultaneously lifted their heads and discovered they were both being observed by their large brother.

"It's not your fault, d'Artagnan," Porthos stated, giving both of his friends an intense stare. "And neither is it yours, Aramis. Don't punish yourselves for Athos' decisions."

"But I should have noticed earlier," the Spaniard began. "I know that he has a disposition to hide injuries. As all of us do," he admitted when Porthos started to interrupt him. "But he's the worst."

"I knew he was injured," added d'Artagnan, giving voice to his thoughts. "I could feel it. I should have stopped him."

Now it was the two other's turn to bandy looks.

Then Aramis cleared his throat, looking directly into the pup's eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I can't explain it exactly but... there was that urgent feeling right at the end of the skirmish, when I simply knew he'd been hurt. But I allowed myself to be fooled. Maybe because I wanted to..."

Sighing, Porthos stood up and walked over to his youngest brother, taking a seat at his side. Squeezing his shoulder firmly, he said, "it's not your fault, lad. None of us would have been able to stop Athos from leavin' Pinon as soon as possible. Even if he had admitted to bein' hurt, he never would've stayed."

Following after Porthos, Aramis sat down on d'Artagnans other side, putting a hand on his arm. "As difficult as it is, I have to agree. Porthos is right, none of us could have prevented it, for we all know of Athos' behaviour."

"So... what do we do now?" the Gascon asked. "Just sit and wait?"

"Unfortunately, yes. We'll sit at his side. We'll make him feel our presence, and we'll wait 'til he comes back to us."

"And we take shifts, just as you suggested," Porthos added. "I'll take first watch."


	6. Chapter 6

_Aaaand... thanks again to all who follow and_ _favorite this story. The interest you take in this makes me happy. As always my thanks in this way to those guests, who kindly left a review._

 _And I beforehand apologize for the following... ;)_

 _._

 _._

 **Chapter Six**

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 _Pain... darkness... fear... despair... worry... overwhelming concern... Someone's worried... About me?... Why?... Who?...Who are you?... A healer?... What do you want?... You're trying to save me?... Why?... I don't know you... Why are you so worried?... Am I going to die?... You can't save me, can you?... No, don't look there!... That's my secret... I don't want you in there... God... It's hurting... Stop it!... You're too strange... Your presence is frightening... Who are you?... No, you can't be a healer, you're a demon... Who else could be in my mind?... You're saving me for hell... Who's sent you?... God or Satan?... I'm condemned... You're a herald of the devil... You see too much... You're not allowed to be here... Oh my god... Yes, I'm guilty... I nearly killed my wife... I didn't watch my brother... I'm responsible for his death... I brought that woman in our house... I allowed myself to be beguiled... I'm guilty of trusting her... Guilty... No!... I won't go with you... Leave me be!... Pain... Anxiety... It's crushing me... Where can I go?... I must hide... Where can I hide?... Can I hide?... Anywhere?..._

*14AAA41*

.

Elinja hadn't been happy seeing the exhausted men come back just after an hour. But she refrained from scolding them because she knew they wouldn't have listened. So she simply explained to Aramis how to prepare the water for cleaning the wound the next day and prepared the ointment she'd spoken of. Being sure that each of them could detect the signs of fever, she regretfully prepared to leave them on their own. Athos' condition was more than critical, every minute a tenuous battle between life and death, but she had done all she could to provide him a chance. So it now was his friends' turn to bring him through the night.

Aramis escorted her outside, helping her with her cloak and carrying her basket. In the yard they met Treville, who had just left his former office to look after Athos. After his talk with Elinja he had felt the wish to make sure that Athos was still holding on. And there had been one question left to be answered.

"Would you please tell me what we owe you?" the Captain asked, getting right to the point.

Stunned, Elinja stopped dead, giving him an annoyed look. "Nothing," she stated.

Startled, Treville protested. "But you at least must allow me to compensate your expenses, as usual."

Shaking her head, the Persian made herself clear. "I came to help because I wanted to. I'm actually not even allowed to practice in Paris, as you surely know, but I heard so much about the honour and gallantry of the musketeers, especially about the Inseparables, that I had to help. If your friend survives, that will be all the compensation I need."

The Captain started to object again, but Aramis leapfrogged him. "There will never be enough thanks to be given to you. We understand the risk you've taken and we appreciate it. But I can assure you, whenever you or your family are in need of any kind of assistance, we will be there. You just need to send a message and we'll be on our way."

The woman nodded with a smile. "I'll bear that in mind, thank you. In case you need my help again, just call me at Dr. Lemay's. I'll stay in Paris for the next ten days. And maybe you can keep me current on how your friend is doing."

Returning her smile warmly, Aramis took her fingers, giving her a kiss on the hand. "I promise. Thank you very much, Elinja bint Armin." With that, he handed the basket to Treville and turned, heading back to the infirmary.

Offering her his arm, the Captain escorted her towards the gate, shouting for one of his men. "I cannot accompany you back to Dr. Lemay's house, but Michel here will make sure your safe return. The musketeer's regiment is deeply indebted to you, so I can only confirm Aramis' promise."

"Let's wait 'till Athos is on the mend. Now it is not yet the time for promises, Captain. There's more probability of your man's death than his survival, I'm sorry," she felt compelled to say.

Closing his eyes briefly, Treville nodded. "I understand, thank you for your honesty."

"You're welcome," she replied sadly. "Could you also inform me if things go the bad way?"

"Of course, it's the least I can do. Goodbye, Mistress bint Armin." Handing the basket over to the waiting musketeer, the Captain made his way back to the office.

*14AAA41*

.

"Aramis, go to bed," Porthos urged, watching Aramis rummaging around the medical supplies.

The burly musketeer had taken a seat directly beside the sickbed, one of his hands resting on Athos' chest, whilst d'Artagnan had occupied one of the free beds and was trying to get some sleep.

"But I have to prepare..." the medic answered back, but was interrupted immediately.

"No! You must relax. You're of no use while lacking sleep. If Athos needs you tonight, heaven forbid, you must be rested. So go to bed, now, or I'll knock you out," the large musketeer threatened.

"You wouldn't..."

"I would!"

"Shall I hold him?" a tired Gascon chipped in.

Aramis spun around, making an indefinable noise. "Hrmpf. You two wouldn't dare..." He stopped speaking, when Porthos, as well as d'Artagnan, got ready to rise. Lifting his hands, Aramis grumbled as he went over to the next free bed. "Well, well... See... I'm going to bed. Are you two satisfied now?"

When he noticed Porthos watching him carefully, he grunted, "Alright, I will **try** to get some sleep." He enhanced the word 'try' distinctly to make a point. "But if there's any problem, as little as it may be, you'll wake me up," he insisted.

"As if you wouldn't be awake with the smallest noise," Porthos answered drily.

"Can you two finally keep your mouths shut?" the Gascon muttered, lying under his blanket again. "At least one of us is trying to be reasonable and going to sleep."

The two elder musketeers crossed eyes with some surprise for being reprimanded by their youngest member. Then shrugging non-committedly, Porthos turned his attention back to Athos, whilst Aramis shifted a bit and lay down at last, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Sighing, d'Artagnan closed his eyes, following his own advice and allowing his exhausted body and mind to rest, somehow knowing that he'd be needed soon.

*14AAA41*

.

Listening to the small noises his brothers made while sleeping, it became difficult for Porthos to stay awake and attentive during the first part of the night. After sunset, the garrison had become quiet, his fellow musketeers going to sleep except the men on guard. Nobody had wanted to disturb the Inseparables, everyone knew, being informed by their former Captain, how bad things were.

Treville had visited the infirmary for a short time before going to bed, he needed confirmation that Athos was still hanging on and he also wanted to tell Porthos to call him if necessary.

Soon after the Captain had left, Porthos had started talking to the unconscious man in a low voice, reviving memories of their former adventures. But of course he got no reaction at all.

Athos lay absolutely motionless, barely breathing, heartbeat still unsteady. His paleness was terrifying. Never one to really have much colour in the first place, except the occasional sunburn after standing guard on a sunny day at the palace, he still looked pale. There was nearly no colour left, his skin as white as the blankets he lay on. Athos' skin was feeling very cold, his fingers more like ice than like something living.

The large musketeer knew about the consequences of blood loss and the possibility that his brother simply could fade away, but he objected to even considering this possibility, as none of the Inseparables would. The three of them would rest and watch alternately, to keep up their strength. When Athos would finally wake up they all would be needed even more, because Athos wasn't one of the most docile and uncomplaining patients.

"You know, I'm still pissed off," grumbled Porthos, " 'cause you didn't say a word. It's bad enough that you let yourself get hurt by that foolish boy, but keepin' silent, just bleedin' out... If you weren't lyin' on that damn sickbed, I'd knock some sense into you."

Shifting a bit, because the hours of sitting still made his muscles stiff, Porthos lifted his head, looking over to his sleeping brothers. Then he reached for the pocket watch Athos normally carried on his belt, and thought about letting d'Artagnan get some more rest. He hadn't yet made up his mind when his youngest brother began moving slightly.

*14AAA41*

.

With a big yawn, d'Artagnan rubbed his eyes, blinking tiredly before finally sitting up. He glanced over to Porthos, who looked rather surprised to see him awake. "What time is it?" the boy muttered, still feeling a bit weary.

"It's exactly two in the morning," he got as an answer. "Do you have a clock for a brain?"

Smirking, the younger got to his feet and walked over to the basin, splashing a bit of water on his face. "My father sometimes asked himself that, too," he murmured, buried under the towel. "It's quite useful, 'cause I rarely need a watch."

Crossing the room, d'Artagnan attended his friend, taking a careful look at his mentor. "He's looking more dead than alive," he noted, swallowing thickly. Gingerly putting his hand on Athos' neck, he searched for the pulse and let out a relieved sigh when he found it. "But he's definitely alive."

"Of course he is," was the upset reply.

The Gascon squeezed his brother's shoulder firmly. "Sorry, I didn't want to upset you. I was just making sure for myself..."

"Yeah... I understand that." The older man got up and pointed to the stool he had occupied the last hours. "It's uncomfortable enough to prevent you from falling asleep," he teased.

"I won't," d'Artagnan started to protest, than stopped and smiled, when Porthos grinned broadly. "You're kidding. Got it."

Walking over to the now empty, but still warm bed, the large man took his boots off, making himself comfortable. "It's your turn now, pup. Keep a close eye on him."

"I will. Good night." Taking a seat, the young man put his hand on Athos chest, instinctively choosing the same position as his precursor as he took over the nightly watch. Being fully aware about the risks of the early morning hours, that being the time when most people died, he swore to himself to be extremely alert. He had a strange feeling in his gut that he couldn't extinguish, so he knew he had to be extra vigilant watching over his friend during these hours. He hadn't even thought about arguing with Porthos about the shifts the other night because he'd wanted to be the one at Athos' side in the early morning.

*14AAA41*

.

 _It's hurting... I'm hurting... Why can't that stop?... When will it end?... I can't bear it anymore... Can't bear the guilt anymore... Do I have to?... What for?... For whom?... Who cares?... There was someone...Something?... A presence... A demon?... She was caring... But she was also scaring me... How can someone be in my head?... She was searching... She found my secret... It's what demons do, I guess... She made me feel guilty... I'm guilty... Guilty of abandoning my brother... Guilty of killing my wife... But, she's not dead... It doesn't matter... I convicted her... The demon saw it... She made me feel it again... The despair, the fury, the grief... It's overwhelming... It's torturing my soul... Killing my mind... But now she's gone... She left me... I'm alone again... God, please... Make it stop... It hurts... Is this the beginning?... The purgatory?... Does it feel like this?... Pain... Solitude... Fear... I surely deserve it, but... It's killing me... Funny, I'm already dead, am I not?... I can't hear, can't see, can't move... Everything is dark... Can feel nothing, there's only pain and fear... I'm alone..._ _Or am I gone?... No...not yet... But I will... Silence... Oblivion... Redemption... I'm coming..._

*14AAA41*

.

"...know, I'll never forget that look of yours after we saved you from..." Stopping midsentence, d'Artagnan looked closely at Athos. He wasn't able to ascertain what, but that feeling he had had the evening before, was back; the instinctive knowledge that something was going very wrong. Terrified, he studied his mentor's face. Could the older man possibly look even paler? And could the edges of his face seem even sharper?

Most afraid, he concentrated on feeling for the pulse at the neck and let out a relieved breath when he found it. "You're still here..." he muttered.

With his other hand he reached out to stroke his mentor's hair from his face, but he flinched when he touched the skin. It felt ice-cold and somewhat not really alive. "Athos?"

Gripped by fear, d'Artagnan held his breath as he awaited a reply. When Athos actually twitched, and his eyelids began to flutter, the Gascon let out a breath and leaned over his friend's face. Hoping Athos was waking up, the Gascon desperately wanted him to know, that he was not alone.

"I'm here, Athos. You're safe. We've brought you back to Paris. But please don't stress yourself for you must rest. Save your strength for healing, I will wait. We will all wait as long as it takes."

His words seemed to be lost on his brother, because there was no reaction to them. But more and more it looked like Athos was fighting something, for his lips started moving, seemingly forming words without making any sound.

"Sh, sh," the Gascon soothed, trying to calm the injured man down. Putting his hand back on his mentor's chest he felt the heartbeat becoming even more unsteady, bouncy and somehow weaker than just minutes before. It was definitely fading.

*14AAA41*

.

 _So, this is the moment... This is how it feels... How damned men feel... Pain crushing one's body... Guilt and despair crushing one's soul... Dark emotions that will kill you... Sensing demons, which search your mind... One cannot hide... You'll always be found... Always and everywhere... How can I escape?... I'm condemned to suffer... I'm guilty... Guilty... I must suffer... Forever... It's what I deserve... It never will end... Maybe if I let go... No, there's someone again... Someone I know... Someone's calling me..._

*14AAA41*

.

"Athos!" the Gascon urged, his voice slightly louder than before, desperately wanting to be heard and wanting his brother to wake up. "Athos!"

The ill man's eyes flew open, his gaze uncertain at first, then suddenly fixating on the boy's face. "D'Artagnan," he uttered, barely audible.

Making a faint effort to lift one hand to his brother's chest, Athos surrendered to the leaden weakness dominating his whole body. No longer able to keep his eyes open he let his lids close again. He heard someone begging him to open them again, but he felt too tired to even try or concentrate on the voice.

Staying awake meant the pain rising again, consuming him from inside out, so he wished himself back to the senseless blackness, promising painlessness and heavenly peace by simply giving in. Somewhere in his mind there was that little thought nagging at him, urging him to fight for someone waiting for him, but he pushed it aside. The feeling of guilt and despair he had attended over so many years became omnipotent and he desperately wanted to never feel that again. So he prepared to let go, his breathing slowing down bit by bit.

The last years with the musketeers, all the good experiences he'd shared with his brothers, were drowned by his dark memories, those awakened again by his enforced return to Pinon, and the overwhelming guilt he felt about everything regarding his former life. He breathed in slowly, starting to welcome the sweet oblivion, content to let go.

"Athos, no!"

The desperate shout caused him to open his eyes one last time. Seeing the tears streaming down the somewhat familiar face he wondered a moment about the crying young man in front of him, but then he doffed any further conscious thought and just in case apologized, uttering a barely audible, "S'ry."

Eyes closing, lips forming something like a relieved smile, his last breath slowly faded while his heart throbbed once, twice... and then...

*14AAA41*

.

 _Sorry... I can't... Cannot go on... It's hurting too much... It's destroying my soul... I must leave...Let go... Go... Gone..._

*14AAA41*

.

"No!" the Gascon yelled at the now motionless man in front of him, rocking his shoulders. "Don't let go! Don't you dare leave me know!"

Getting no reaction, the youngest musketeer resorted to pleas. "Please..." sobbing uncontrollably, he searched for a pulse, finding none. "Please, Athos fight... please... I cannot..."

Pushing back his despair, his anger took over. How could his brother leave them? How could he cast aside the brotherhood, the love they all felt for each other? The love he felt for him?

"No..." he murmured, raising his fist. "No!" he screamed again and bashed with all the annoyance he felt on his mentor's chest.

.

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 ** _Sorry ?!_**


	7. Chapter 7

_And here we go again... Thank you to everyone following and favoriting this, I really enjoy it. And as not to let you suffer any longer, here's the next chap! Enjoy!_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

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 **Chapter Seven**

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"What the hell are you doing?" Aramis, awakened by his brother's shouts, suddenly stood at d'Artagnan's side, grabbing his arm.

"Let go," the younger growled, ridding the restraining hand. "I must..." He pushed the medic away with surprising power, making him stumble into the wall. "I must get him back."

Obeying his inner voice, d'Artagnan again slammed his fist onto the motionless man's chest. "Don't!" And again, punch. "Give.." Punch. "Up!"

"Porthos!" the medic yelled, struggling to get back to his feet. "Stop him! He's just hurting him further." He had not yet realised that Athos' heart had stopped beating, but feared d'Artagnan's uncoordinated hits would possibly kill his brother.

Without hesitation, Porthos embraced his seemingly insane younger friend, pulling him out of reach of Athos.

"No," the Gascon called out, fighting against the grasp. "Let me go... he's gone... I must get..."

The sound of feeble inhaling drove everyone's attention back to the bed. Aramis dove to Athos' side. Porthos released a no longer bristling d'Artagnan. And the youngest sagged back onto the stool. When they all heard the sound of shaky exhaling, made by the still unconscious man, followed by another breath, d'Artagnan let his tears flow again. Whilst Aramis searched for the heartbeat, Porthos squeezed his youngest brother's shoulders, not only comforting him, but also himself.

"Thank God!" Aramis relieved exclamation made the others flinch. "He's alive!" Making the sign of the cross, he stayed put, his left hand still resting at Athos' chest, reassuring himself of his brother's continued breathing.

"What, for god's sake, was that?" Porthos questioned.

Before the medic was able to give an explanation, d'Artagnan started to speak. "He... he..." not quite sure of his voice, he harrumphed, "..he stopped..." swallowing back another sob, he harrumphed again, "..Athos stopped fighting," he managed to say finally.

"What do you mean, he stopped fighting?" Aramis urged. "Surely Athos never would..."

"He said sorry," the younger interrupted him. "He saw me, recognized me, spoke my name," again he had to pause, breathing deeply. "And then he apologized and..." his voice broke, eyes watering again. "And he let go," he whispered. "He gave up."

Shocked by his statement, his brothers exchanged very concerned looks. "No," Aramis then stated, "Athos never would be that selfish. He would fight 'till the end of days, if necessary. He knows how hard his," stopping for a mere second, the Spaniard decided to use another word, "how hard losing him would hit us."

"But what if all this has been too much? The return to Pinon, dealing with that dark past of his again, and now the injury? What if he hasn't enough power left? If he just can't go on?" The Gascon paused sadly. "Wouldn't it be selfish of us, urging him to fight this battle?"

"Do you suggest we let him go?" Porthos growled.

"No!" d'Artagnan replied. "No... I admit to being selfish enough for forcing him to continue fighting," he croaked, struggling with tears again. "Selfish for not letting him go. Selfish to claim that I need him." While talking, he had laid his hand on his brother's chest next to Aramis', easing himself by feeling Athos' heart beat.

It was Aramis turn to swallow given d'Artagnan's sincere and desperate words. And Porthos, too, had to gulp back some tears, whilst hearing their youngest' confession.

Clearing his voice, Porthos squeezed the Gascon's shoulder once more, before also putting his free hand on the wounded man's chest. "I agree," he stated. "I am that selfish, too."

Aramis no longer hesitated. "And me also." Lifting his head he crossed eyes with Porthos first, then with d'Artagnan, then at last looking into his injured brother's face.

"We're sorry, Athos," the medic said, "but we will never let you go. I know it's cruel to demand you fighting all that pain, but we cannot let you slip away. Can you hear me? This will not be the day you're allowed to leave us. Not like this."

"We'll hang on and so must you," Porthos joined in. "This will not be the way you leave us. Not for such a stupid reason."

"I couldn't bear loosing you. Not after the loss of my father, my home and Constance," d'Artagnan admitted. "I need your dry humour, your silent support, your tutelage, even your bad mood. I need you."

Brushing away the single tear that had escaped him, Aramis repeated. "We need you, old friend."

"And I'm sure you know this. But you just must remember," Porthos added.

*14AAA41*

.

 _It never ends... Pain... Darkness... Hollowness... Who pulled me back?... Why wasn't I allowed to go?... Why do I have to suffer again?... I can't stand this any longer... Why have I been dragged back?... Just let me go in peace... Please... I can't stand the pain, the loneliness... I don't want to be alone... Where are you?... Why have you left me?... I'm alone... No... Wait... Is there someone?... Who's there?... Can you help me?... I can feel someone... But it's not her... God... The pain is killing me... Agony... Darkness... Nothing..._

*14AAA41*

.

Aramis and Porthos had gone back to rest reluctantly. All the more scared after they had watched a desperate d'Artagnan bringing their brother back from death's door. If he hadn't seen it, the medic wouldn't have been able to believe it.

Porthos had thanked their youngest, trying to comfort him, grinning when he'd made him smile a bit. "You goin' on?" he had asked the Gascon, his question more like a statement. The brief but resolute nod he had gotten back, had been enough to let him go back to sleep a bit more relaxed.

D'Artagnan, for his part, continued his watch, one hand resting on Athos' chest, his other alternately stroking his mentor's hair and warming his icy hands or rubbing his arm. Simultaneously he had been talking all the time about everything and nothing until the garrison came back to life.

The Gascon had reluctantly abandoned his place at the sickbed when Aramis urged him to eat, and had walked over to the table like a shadow. Watching Aramis intensely while the medic changed the bandages, d'Artagnan anxiously waited for some comment. He had been remembering the medic's exclamation of hurting Athos further the whole night through, mentally kicking himself for his actions. When Aramis ascertained the former cracked ribs now being broken, he had felt a sting of guilt. But on the other hand... at least Athos was still breathing. They had gotten through the first night.

*14AAA41*

.

Near midday, the Captain was called to the garrison gate. Patiently waiting outside stood Elinja, covered completely in her dark-blue cloak.

"I went out for a walk this morning and suddenly found myself here," she told him instead of a greeting. "How's Athos doing?"

"Mistress bint Amin," Treville greeted her, offering her his arm to escort her to the infirmary. "I don't know exactly, I briefly looked inside when I passed the sickroom this morning, I didn't want to disturb them. Athos seemed to be still unconscious and my men looked extremely wearily. Apparently it's been a hard night."

"Maybe we'll take a closer look together?" she suggested.

To his surprise, the Captain found himself smiling at her demand masked as a proposal. "That sounds good to me. Follow me."

*14AAA41*

.

"Elinja!" Aramis' pleased call made his brothers look to the door.

All three men smiled when they saw the Persian enter the room, followed directly by Treville. "Aramis, Porthos, d'Artagnan," the woman greeted them while crossing the room.

Nodding briefly to his Captain, d'Artagnan shifted a bit to grant her access to the unconscious man, but still maintaining skin contact. "What are you doing here?" he asked curiously.

"My walk seemed to have developed a life of its own. I had arrived at the garrison before I realised I was heading here," she explained, smirking.

The Gascon chuckled briefly, as did his brothers, while they watched her checking Athos over.

"I'd never thought an unconscious Athos would be that attractive to women," Porthos jested. "Had I known that, I'd have knocked him out quite some times."

Snorting at the comment, Aramis joined Elinja at Athos' side. She looked up, her eyebrows furled. "What's happened?" she asked him directly. "You three look awful, even worse than yesterday."

Taking a deep breath, the medic was pre-empted by d'Artagnan. "Athos nearly died," he stated flatly, his voice hoarse, before he concentrated again on his mentor.

Seeing the question in Elinja's eyes, Aramis continued. "Some hours ago, d'Artagnan was taking care of Athos, and his heart stopped beating. He even gave some sort of good-bye shortly before that. D'Artagnan revived him by bashing on his chest... But now he refuses to leave his side longer than a couple of minutes."

Tilting her head, the healer checked her patient once more, discovering the now broken ribs. "I see," she said without blame in her voice. "You saved his life," she told the anxious Gascon.

"I broke his ribs," he retorted.

Putting her hand over d'Artagnan's, which still rested on Athos' chest, she repeated, enhancing every word. "You. Saved. Him." She held the contact until he looked her in the eyes, offering her a sad smile. "How did you know what to do?"

"I didn't," the Gascon admitted. "I just... Somehow I knew he was dying, I sensed him giving up... It confused me, I was distraught and angry... and simply out of my head, I guess. So I bashed on his chest."

She smiled back and squeezed his hand. "For what ever reason, you did the right thing. It worked, didn't it?"

D'Artagnan merely shrugged.

"You said you knew he was dying?" she asked, curious about the obvious bond between the young Gascon and the older man she had already witnessed the evening before, when the boy flinched repeatedly during the surgery . "How did you know?" She gripped his hands with both of hers.

"I can't explain," the young man tried to answer her question, "I just.. knew. I could sense that he was ready to leave, that he had given up. But I don't know how..."

Blinking and shaking his head against the sudden dizziness that had overcome him, d'Artagnan wondered why he felt lightheaded. Well, he hadn't eaten as much as he should have, and he most probably hadn't drunk enough as well, but he hadn't moved, so the sensation yet was surprising. Just as the fact that the dizziness vanished from one second to the other... With a frown he looked up, determined to find out, but when he met the Persians gaze he simply forgot what he had been going to ask. Instead he listened to her words.

"You're instinct is impressive. Just continue listening to it," she told him, briefly tightening her hold before finally breaking skin contact.

He still was confused and his feelings still were in turmoil, but Elinja's words, or her presence, or whatever, had given him a little bit more self-confidence.

*14AAA41*

.

 _It's dark... It hurts... I'm alone... Where are you?... I can't feel you... But I know you're here... You wouldn't leave me, would you?... Why can I not hear you?... Speak to me... Please... Anything... Where have you gone?..._

*14AAA41*

.

Things went on quite similar the next day and the first part of the following night, the musketeers taking shifts in watching Athos and turning him now and again from his back to his side. Aramis had declared that changing positions would do only good to the insensate man, preventing him from getting bedsores and keeping his circulation up.

They once and again had dripped some liquids in Athos' mouth, very carefully and in tiny amounts, and Athos instinctively had swallowed them, but Aramis doubted it would be sufficient should the unconsciousness last much longer. Or in the worst case, should Athos catch a fever.

They themselves had eaten only the bare necessities, just enough to give them the needed energy. They didn't even notice what they were chewing on or what the food tasted like.

D'Artagnan had been unusually quiet throughout the day, lying on one of the beds when not sitting at Athos' side. He only spoke when directly approached, most times seeming to be far away in his thoughts. Also, he seldom left the infirmary, only to take care of his needs quickly. He simply refused to sleep in his own quarters, stubbornly persisting in not being able to sleep elsewhere.

They had stopped arguing with him as the Gascon nearly snapped in the late afternoon.

"I will not leave him," d'Artagnan called out, glaring at both of them. "I must not," he added barely audible, after breaking eye-contact and turning away.

But Porthos heard it. "Woah...easy lad... If you're goin' to stay then just do it. It's alright, you know? Even if I don't quite understand what your last words meant."

"I don't understand it myself," the younger muttered. "But..." he paused, searching for words.

"..but you just can't leave him," Aramis ended his sentence. "As neither can we. But you're wearing yourself out, I can see it clearly, and I simply wanted you to rest properly at least once."

"I wouldn't even come near to sleep... And I know I have to be around. Don't ask me why," the Gascon proceeded, lifting his hands, "I cannot even explain it to myself."

"So, it's like the day before yesterday? When you told me something was going wrong?" Aramis probed.

Shrugging, d'Artagnan nodded. "Sometimes I'm afraid of going mad," he whispered.

"Why should you go mad?" Porthos asked.

"Because I **know** ," d'Artagnan started, sighing when he realised his answer was unsatisfactory. "I took the late-night-shift because I sensed something would happen, because I **knew** I would be needed. Just as it feels like that I'm Athos' link to life, that it's me who has to drag him back from the darkness... It feels like being two parts of the same coin, I can sense his condition almost as I feel mine. I simply know..." he let his voice fade.

Seeing the confusion in his brothers' faces, he continued, "I'm not saying that Athos doesn't need you two, you're his family longer than I am. But I cannot banish these feelings; that he needs physical contact, that he needs to hear our voices, and that **I** must not leave this room."

"Well," Aramis began thoughtfully, "I must admit, that sounds a bit crazy. But on the other hand, thinking how odd Athos sometimes has acted when you were in danger..." He took a short break, thinking.

"I remember very well the anger he'd shown after we lost track of you and Vadim, when the Captain declared your wellbeing secondary. Or when you and the king were lost, although we had to search for the king first, it had been you Athos was concerned about more. His relief was palpable when you two suddenly appeared out of the woods. So, why shouldn't it work both ways?"

"Hmm. Doesn't sound crazy to me, 'cause I often know when Aramis is doin' somethin' stupid. So why not you and Athos, too?" replied Porthos. "When we were on our way with Bonnaire, you went back to the house because you knew Athos would need help. And didn't he tell you about his wife that night? Somethin' he didn't tell us for years." He sounded a bit annoyed.

"Oh, yes, that was quite surprising," Aramis admitted. He then looked back to d'Artagnan. "So, what do you think about a compromise? You stop wearing yourself out and try to rest properly and we will listen to your gut concerning Athos' condition."

The younger man didn't even try to stifle his relieved snort and nodded thankfully.

Porthos, for his part, grinned broadly . "Well, it's listening to the pup's gut then," he shook his head. "But no word about that to any other musketeer... They'll bundle us into the madhouse."

*14AAA41*

.

Some hours later, in the early morning, d'Artagnan suddenly awoke. After his talk with his brothers he had gone to rest, following Aramis' orders and trusting in his sixth sense, just as Aramis had suggested. Yawning, because he had barely slept enough to compensate for the last few days, he sat up and looked around the room. In the bed next to him Porthos was sleeping whilst Aramis was seated at Athos side.

Holding the injured man's hand and softly murmuring Spanish words, the medic ran his rosary through the other hand.

 _He's praying..._ the Gascon thought. _Everything seems to be normal, so why_... _?_ Following his instinct, he rose and quietly walked over to the sickbed, again knowing that something was going wrong. "Aramis?"

"D'Artagnan," the medic acknowledged his presence. He let the rosary drop to his chest and looked up. The worry shown in his face frightened the younger man and now he was sure that something was amiss.

"Fever?" d'Artagnan asked tentatively.

Taking a deep breath, Aramis nodded. "Yes, and he's getting warmer every minute. Now you're awake, could you start cooling him down while I prepare a draught against the fever? And I'll need your help making him drink it. Afterwards we have to find out the cause of his high temperature. I hope it's simply a wound infection..."

Afraid of asking his brother about what else he possibly could mean with his words, d'Artagnan went to do as he was told, determined to fight for his mentor's life once more.

.

.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

.

 _Well... at least Athos is still alive, isn't he?_


	8. Chapter 8

_Debbie: Thank you for your review and thanks for loving this and that! ;)_

 _Thanks to everyone who follows and has favorited this story, you folk are awesome! So, let's see how the boys are doing today..._

 _xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx_

 _._

 _._

 **Chapter Eight**

 **.**

D'Artagnan had proceeded to action as soon as he had heard the words 'cool him down', carrying the bucket over to the sickbed. Removing the blanket, he sat down and washed Athos with the cold, wet rag. His ministrations, however, seemed to have only little effect, since the wounded man started to move weakly, murmuring cloudy words. Feeling his forehead the Gascon noticed that the temperature hadn't decreased. Athos was still burning with fever.

"Aramis," he urged.

"Coming," was the curt answer from the medic, followed by an instruction. "Can you sit him up?"

"What's going on?" Porthos' sleepily voiced from across the room.

"Get up, we need your help," Aramis called.

"On my way." In seconds the burly musketeer arrived at their side. He looked questioningly at his friends.

"You and d'Artagnan must sit him up," Aramis explained. "We must make him drink this," he showed the cup with the cooled off potion, before putting it on the table.

"Mh-hm," giving short shrift, Porthos grabbed his unconscious brother under the armpits and carefully dragged him up. "The pillows," the big man then commanded.

At once, d'Artagnan shoved the pillows behind Athos' back before Porthos lowered the restless man against them. Watching the feverish man flouncing, Aramis and Porthos doubtfully crossed eyes and shook their heads.

"We'll have to keep his head up," Porthos said, immediately putting his words into practice.

But Porthos' action made things even worse. In the beginning, his attempt seemed to be successful, Athos actually calming down a bit. But that lasted only seconds.

A weak, heartbreaking "No," uttered from the semi-conscious man, followed by increased tossing, forced each of them to grab one or two of Athos' limbs.

"Hold him! He'll tear the stitches if we don't stop this!" Aramis tried to calm Athos down, but with no effect. So he and Porthos alternately talked, shoed and finally shouted at their brother, accomplishing nothing, while d'Artagnan sat and watched and listened.

"Stop!" the Gascon suddenly commanded, "let him go!"

When Porthos didn't release his grip, d'Artagnan bashed his hands away, earning himself a confused, annoyed look. Refusing to explain, he loosened Aramis' hands too, taking a deep breath, steadying himself.

Moving to pull the younger man away, Porthos cursed. "Damn! What are you doin'? We must..."

"Sh,sh, wait." Aramis intervened, grabbing Porthos' arm and stopping his movement, before the larger man could reach their youngest. He had a strong assumption of what was going to happen. Expectantly, he watched d'Artagnan.

One last time, the Gascon slowly breathed before resolutely placing his own hand on Athos' chest, directly above the frantic beating heart. The injured man flinched, his hands coming up, pulling weakly at his shirtsleeves.

"Hush, it's me," the younger soothed, his voice and his touch seeming to work some sort of miracle. The ill man's tossing became less agitated, yet it didn't stop completely. "Athos, please... you must calm down. I know you can hear me. You're safe, trust me. Let us help you," d'Artagnan went on, putting his free hand above those grasping on his.

That did the job. Athos' grip loosened and he took a deep breath before fully sobering down, hands slipping back to the mattress.

"Woah," an astonished Porthos sagged down on the stool. "That's amazing."

"It proves that there must be some kind of link. I've never seen Athos that relaxed when he was sick," Aramis stated. "If this works every time, your connection will be quite useful."

"I think it does," d'Artagnan thought loudly. "The night, when his manor was burned down," he didn't finish the sentence.

"When you dragged him out of the fire," Porthos continued instead.

"Mh-hm," the younger went on, "he was very drunk, and hurt, Milady had downed him, and he had breathed in too much of the smoke. After telling me about her and what had happened he collapsed, coughing and moving restlessly. And exactly like you just have seen, he sobered down not long after I touched him."

"It definitely will be useful," the medic repeated, before changing topic. "Do you think you can make him drink this?"

D'Artagnan gave him a doubtful look. "I'll try." Carefully he moved a hand to Athos' neck, lifting his head and nodded in Aramis' direction.

While the medic brought the cup to the ill man's lips, the Gascon talked to him again. "I need you to drink, Athos. You're burning with fever."

Pushing with the cup to the insensate man's lips didn't achieve the required reaction. Instead Athos wrinkled his nose, turning his head away automatically.

*14AAA41*

.

 _No...I remember that smell... It's disgusting... I can't drink this... I won't... Why don't you leave me alone?... What do you want from me?... Is that you again?... No, it's not her... It's... I don't know... Don't remember..._

*14AAA41*

.

"No," d'Artagnan said softly, parting his mentor's lips with a push of his thumb. "You must drink, Athos."

Looking over to Aramis, he gestured for him to pour a part of the liquid into Athos' mouth, which the other man carefully did.

"Come on, Athos," the Gascon pleaded. "I know you can do this. I know it tastes rank. But you need it... Drink...please..."

*14AAA41*

.

 _I know this voice... It's him... He wants me to drink... But it's nasty...Why do I need it?... What for?... Why should I do what he asks me to do?... He's pleading... Pleading with me to drink... Shall I?... I trust him..._

*14AAA41*

.

With a relieved smile, d'Artagnan watched his injured brother drink. He almost had doubted that his words would help, but after a time which felt like eternity, Athos actually started to swallow. Aramis had accomplished to pour the whole content of the cup into their wounded brother and Athos had swallowed it all.

"That'll do," Aramis stated, putting the empty cup away. "Now we can only wait while trying to cool him down further."

"And if his fever doesn't break?" Porthos asked.

"I'm quite sure it won't break that quickly," the Spaniard admitted. "We must make him drink enough water to keep his body working, because continuous loss of liquid will bring him near to dehydration, which might be lethal. And of course he has to drink the potion again, every six hours until his fever breaks."

All three men exchanged worried looks, each of them fully aware of the difficulty of the task, especially because Athos now seemed only to react positively to their youngest' administrations.

D'Artagnan closed his eyes briefly, conscious that he would do the main part of the work and took a deep breath. "All right, I'll do whatever I can. I won't let him..." he didn't finish the sentence.

Knowing what the Gascon had been about to say, and what none of them dared enunciate aloud, Porthos posed another question. "What about looking for the cause of the fever?"

"Sit him up, I have to unwrap those bandages," Aramis commanded.

"You think his wound's infected?" d'Artagnan asked, stabilizing Athos' head while Porthos was raising the unconscious man again.

"I almost hope, it would be the easiest to treat." The medic had finished removing the dressings, while answering. He took a thorough look at the still red shining wound and let out an audible, annoyed sigh.

"Lookin' that bad?" the gentle giant asked.

"No..." Aramis answered, sounding concerned.

"Then what..." Porthos started to ask, before he suddenly realized. "Oh..."

"It's not the superficial wound," d'Artagnan stated, interpreting his brother's reaction correctly.

Shaking his head, the Spaniard's face expressed deep anxiety. "It seems like the damage to his kidney is worse than I initially had hoped."

"So what do we do now?" the Gascon wanted to know.

"We'll tend to the fever, try to make him drink and..." Aramis took a tiny break, causing Porthos to repeat his last word.

"And?"

"And we pray, hoping that he's still strong enough to fight this off," the medic said, having reached the limit of his knowledge.

*14AAA41*

.

After Aramis had made sure that the superficial wound wasn't the main cause of the fever, they had moved the wounded man very carefully to his unattended room at the garrison.

The infirmary normally was a rather busy place, musketeers in need of medical assistance heading there every so often. Till today, though, they had been lucky, none of their fellows had needed help, but that wouldn't last forever. So they had decided to tend to their wounded brother in a more private environment for it looked like Athos' recovery would take much longer than expected.

Porthos' idea of using a door to carry Athos on it without moving him too much had made the decision even easier. They had called some of their comrades to help them, four men holding the door near to the sickbed, whilst Aramis and d'Artagnan very carefully had pulled the mattress with Athos on it onto the wooden surface. Arriving in Athos' room they simply had done the other way round, this time only pulling the blanket over to the wounded man's bed. Athos hadn't stirred during those manoeuvres and a careful check from Aramis had made sure that the transport hadn't caused more damage.

The three men afterwards had abandoned every thought of sleep to fight Athos' fever, but even their associated endeavours in cooling him with wet clothes and making him drink the potions didn't change anything. Whenever they had brought down Athos' temperature a bit, it soon after had increased again, persistently staying at a dangerously high level. Every now and then the ill man started to toss about, murmuring incomprehensible words, only calming down by d'Artagnans hands on his bare chest or his cheeks.

Additionally, they hadn't been able to make Athos drink as much as Aramis would have liked, because more and more frequently the wounded man nearly choked on the liquid poured into his mouth, despite all of d'Artagnan's efforts. So they had become even more careful, pouring only the tiniest bits of water or tea into the swordsman's mouth.

All these things combined made Aramis become more concerned the longer the fever lasted, seeing his brother's body getting weaker every hour.

*14AAA41*

.

 _Hot... Agony... Darkness...Heat... Fire... Fiery agony... Pain...Overwhelming pain... Engulfing fire... I'm burning... I'm alone... There's no help... No escape... No redemption... Alone... Where are you?... It's too quiet... Where's the voice?... I can't hear the voice... I hear nothing... I cannot hear anyone... I'm alone... Is there someone?... No one?... They've left me... Please... Help me!... Help..._

*14AAA41*

.

Meanwhile it was near midday, more than a week after the swordsman had been wounded. D'Artagnan had gone to rest a bit on the improvised bed made of a thin mattress and some blankets at the other side of Athos' room. His visible exhaustion after watching the wounded throughout the night had made the medic worry, asking himself how long their youngest could stand the stress.

Now it was his turn sitting at Athos' side, whilst Porthos had gone to change his cloths and fetch something to eat. Checking his friend over again, Aramis shook his head briefly. Athos' skin had become dry, folds of skin kept standing instead of vanishing, a sure sign for dehydration. His pulse was barely palpable, and his heartbeat still too fast. The days before, they'd had to change the blankets and the ill man's cloth repeatedly, because in his unconscious state he had wet himself every so often. Instead of being disgusted by that natural reaction they simply had done the job, no one mentioning it. But even that had stopped during the night, and the last time a change had been needed was many hours ago.

"I don't know what to do," the Spaniard murmured, washing the damp cloth over his brother's face and arms. "I watch you being parched, fading away, and I don't know how to help you. Maybe..." his voice faded and he swallowed twice, quelling the sob that attempted to escape his throat. Even if his faith was strong and he still refused to give up hope, the reality threatened to catch up with him. He indeed was able to see the signs and read them clearly, knowing that most men would have been dead already.

"But you're not most men," he whispered. "Please Athos, don't do this to me. Although you're often independent, moody and tight-lipped, you're my brother and I won't let..." he stopped, wiping his eyes and taking deep breaths to regain his composure.

When there suddenly was a squeezing hand at his shoulder, the medic looked briefly at the hand and recognised its owner. "Porthos..." Trying to hide the traces of his sorrow, he fixed his gaze on the unconscious man in front of him.

But Porthos knew him too well. "It's alright, Aramis. I'm frightened, too. But as long as the whelp doesn't give up, I won't. Remember? His gut will tell us..."

The medic couldn't help but smile sadly, thinking about their conversation some nights before. Turning his head he crossed eyes with his brother. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Porthos simply said, returning the smile. "What about lunch?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Don't fool me. You didn't eat this mornin' and we all agreed keepin' our strength by takin' as much sustenance as needed." While talking, Porthos walked over to the table and broke off some pieces of bread and cheese. Then he returned and pushed both into Aramis' lap. "Eat!" he commanded.

Sighing, the Spaniard took the bread, looking up into his friend's face. "Well... I'll eat and then we'll make him drink again." He tilted his head towards their still unconscious brother.

Showing a content smile, Porthos nodded, breaking some bread and cheese for himself.

*14AAA41*

.

 _Help me!... Where are you?... Why did you leave me?... I'm alone... Alone in the dark... Alone in the fire... I'm burning... I don't know where to go... I cannot see the way... Is there a way out?... Is there someone to show me?... I'm lost... Lost and alone... Where have you gone?... Why?... What have I done?... Please... Help..._

*14AAA41*

.

As if he had sensed what was going to happen, d'Artagnan woke up just as Aramis and Porthos had started with the difficult task of bringing liquids into their wounded brother. But even with his help, they no longer were able to make Athos swallow anything. Instead, the swordsman nearly choked, coughing weakly and spitting the bit of liquid on his chest.

Gently putting the unconscious man down on his back, Porthos lifted his head and found the same look of helplessness he was wearing, in his brother's faces.

But it was their youngest who asked the question. "And what do we do now?"

"I don't know." Aramis shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I'm at my wit's end."

"But you said if he doesn't drink..." his voice cracking, d'Artagnan thought with desperation. There must be another way, somehow he knew there had to be a solution, but if Aramis didn't know... "Elinja!" he called out.

"You're right, she said we should call her if we need her. And I think we do," the medic remembered. "I know I do," he then confessed.

"I'll go and ask her to come," the Gascon rose from the sickbed he'd been sitting on, eager to do something.

"No," Porthos stopped him. "I'll go. You'll stay here and... ah...you know." Always being a man of actions more than of words, Porthos headed for the door.

"He'll still be here when you come back," d'Artagnan promised, calling after him.

*14AAA41*

.

Porthos had been lucky, arriving just in time, because Elinja had been preparing to leave for a walk.

When he came nearer to Lemay's house, the burly musketeer saw her standing in the door and thought that she must have seen and recognized him. But she made no sign of welcoming, instead she simply tilted her head, before she turned back into the house. So, he briefly wondered if she might be upset seeing him, or if he was disturbing her, but nonetheless he continued on his way.

After he finally had reached the door, he considered if he had to knock or just to wait for her, but her return spared him the decision. When he saw her already carrying her basket, he smiled, pleased by her intuitive comprehension.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mistress Elinja, but we need your help," he addressed her, a little bit breathless from his run.

"No need for excuses, Porthos. I told you to call me if necessary. How's Athos?"

The look that crossed his face told her what she had already guessed, her patient wasn't doing well. "Fever?" she asked, instead of waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, and we can't make him drink anymore either."

"Hmm... wait another moment, please," she said, handing him over her basket. "There's something I've got to fetch."

Porthos watched her disappear into the house again, grateful for the opportunity to gather himself again. He hadn't walked to Lemay's house, no, he almost had run. His concern for his older brother's well-being had forced him to hurry; the unexpected distance leaving him out of breath.

When Elinja returned a moment later, she carried something looking like a small leather rope in her hand, quite similar to his horse's reins. After putting the leather thing into the basket he still held, she closed the door and took a few steps, before she stopped and watched him expectantly.

Pushing the question aside he had been going to ask, he followed her, offering her his arm.

"You alright?" she asked, linking arms with him.

Surprised by her question he tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"You're out of breath, you must have run over here. It's quite the distance from the garrison to Lemay's house."

"I'm fine," he retorted. "But Athos is in a really bad condition. We better make haste. If you're up to it?" he asked cautionary.

Instead of an answer she simply quickened her steps, astonishing him with her pace. "Are **you** up to it?" she teased, gaining even more speed, now almost running.

Smiling broadly he simply hastened alongside her. This small Persian woman was a never-ending enigma.


	9. Chapter 9

**_A/N:_** _Thanks to A reader, Debbie and dg101 for your reviews! I'm glad you still like the way the story goes._

 _What brings me to A.R... First of all, I'm a little sad that at least for you I failed to clarify my intentions. But_ _if you don't like the way this is going, then just don't read. I never made it a secret that Athos is my favorite. And so I think it's natural that, following the original Dumas novel and all those hints in the first two seasons of the series, I'm enhancing the bond between Athos and d'Artagnan. That doesn't mean that Aramis and Porthos are not his family as well, only that between the oldest and the youngest there is this tiny little bit more that makes their bond even more special. And, although Aramis surely is very skilled in battlefield-medicine, he's no doctor, so his knowledge must be_ _limited. But in opposite to you he knows and accepts that. Just take a look in S2E7, than you'll see what I mean. However, thank you as well for telling me your opinion, any kind of critics is appreciated._

 _Last but not least, thanks again to everyone who's following and favoriting this! I'm glad for your silent support._

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 **Chapter Nine**

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When the door of the room opened, Aramis and d'Artagnan both turned their heads. But instead of relief they felt disappointment as they watched Treville entering the room.

"How is he?" the former Captain asked.

"He's getting worse," the medic replied. "His fever hasn't broken yet and we can't make him drink anymore. If there's no miracle..." once more he didn't finish the sentence.

Swallowing, Treville traversed the room and took a seat on an empty stool near the sickbed. Looking down to the motionless man lying on the mattress, he swallowed again. Athos' face looked hollow, the edges sharp as if cut with a knife, the colour of his skin deadly pale, only interrupted by the feverish redness that shined from his cheeks. Carefully grabbing one of the swordsman's hands, the Captain flinched when he felt the icy coldness of the appendage. As he gently touched Athos' forehead, he immediately withdrew his hand, startled by the heat it was radiating.

 _He's dying_ , Treville thought. "Is there nothing you can do for him?" he almost not dared to ask, looking up and meeting Aramis' eyes.

"No," was the whispered answer.

"Porthos has gone to fetch Elinja," d'Artagnan managed to say. "She's our last hope, maybe she knows something else to bring the fever down or a way to provide Athos with liquid. I'm sure she does," he corrected himself, refusing to abandon all hope.

Voicing a sad laugh, Aramis shook his head and stared at him momentarily before he rose and started pacing back and forth. "Don't fool yourself, d'Artagnan," he began bitterly, "there's not much hope left. His body is poisoning itself, for the damaged kidney is limited in its function and the increasing lack of liquid is only worsening it. He's burning up with fever, despite everything we tried, every potion I made. And now he's so far gone, that we can't make him drink anymore. What could Elinja possibly be able to do? Drown him?" He stopped at the end of the sickbed, flopping himself on the edge of the mattress in his helplessness.

Shooting him back an annoyed look, the younger protested. "I don't know, but I will not let him go before we've tried everything."

"We tried everything," Aramis objected him, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine," d'Artagnan scoffed, "than I'll simply not allow him to...to," he nearly choked on the word, "...to die." The last was merely a whisper.

"I won't either," a female voice fell in.

Three faces turned toward the door, watching the Persian woman enter the sick-room.

"Elinja," the youngest musketeer croaked with audible relief. "Please...help him."

Rising, Treville gave way for the healer to access the sickbed. "Mistress bint Amin."

"Captain Treville," she replied, tipping her head as she walked over to the bed. When she got her first look at her patient, her breath hitched. "ya Allah!" she exclaimed.

Hearing the Arabian words made all four men looking a bit confused. Then Aramis pulled himself together and stood up, bowing his head briefly. "Under other circumstances I'd say nice to see you again, Mistress Elinja. Thank you for coming."

"I would agree about the circumstances," the Persian retorted, only to change her tone immediately, now sounding clearly upset. "But why did you wait this long before calling me?" Giving all of them an annoyed look, she put her basket on the table, waiting for an explanation.

Faltering under her allegation, and feeling guilty, the medic reached out for the wall to steady himself. "I didn't think you could...didn't know..." he stuttered, momentarily unable to explain himself, but gratefully sensing Porthos' hand at his back providing silent support.

"You should have called me as soon as his fever rose," she continued scolding. "I told you how dangerous a fever would be, especially in his bad condition. You must know that. Let's pray that it's not too late."

D'Artagnan, watching the expression of guilt on his brother's face, decided to step in, getting him out of the line of fire. "Athos' fever developed quickly. Indeed it started at a high level, but we did everything to cool him down. Aramis brewed potions and we were able to make him drink them, at least at first. In the beginning it looked like we would be able to fight it, especially because there was no treatable reason for it being that high. But then, just an hour before, Athos finally stopped swallowing," he explained in a gush of words, a pleading look in his eyes.

Sighing, Elinja shook her head briefly. "I apologize, Aramis. Please believe me when I say that Athos' welfare lies at my heart, too." She locked eyes with the medic and got a single nod, although he still looked guilty. "You've done well, at least so far. So, you're implying the wound's not infected?"

Having regained his composure, Aramis turned back into physician mode. "No, no more. It's healing as well as one can expect. I guess..."

"It's the kidney," she interrupted, ending his sentence. "The damage is bigger than I'd expected though. Now... for we can't treat the cause of the fever, we must provide his body with enough liquid. That may help it burn out, as fever is a natural reaction of the body to fight an infection as you surely know."

The Spaniard just took a deep breath and nodded.

"But how do we do that without drowning him?" d'Artagnan asked the question that was in everybody's mind.

Ignoring him for the moment, Elinja turned to face Treville. "Can you see to it that we get tea and broth, both of it cooled down to room temperature, at least two, better three quarts each?"

"Of course I can, but how will you make Athos drink all that?" the former Captain repeated the question.

Grabbing the leather contraption that had piqued Porthos curiosity earlier, she gave the awaited explanation. "This is a stomach tube. We use it in Persia to feed patients in a comatose state. It's made from cattle's leather, sewn neatly to form a tube as thick as a finger with about two feet length. You can shove it down one's throat, even if the patient isn't able to swallow, and then ad a funnel to it on the upper end, to pour liquids through it."

Pure blankness greeted her from all four faces, the men looked at her as if she again had spoken Persian. Giving another sigh, Elinja simply started to command them what to do.

"Captain Treville, please be so kind and take care of the things I asked for. Porthos, d'Artagnan, lift Athos up so that he sits upright. Aramis, bring a cup of water, this will be easier if the tube is wet, as well as his mouth."

Shaking off their confusion, the musketeers jumped into action. While Aramis was pouring some water into a cup, Porthos lifted Athos up and d'Artagnan shoved the pillows behind him. The Captain had already left the room and gone to ask Serge to provide some tea and broth. Meanwhile, Elinja took a tin with a creamy paste in it and put some of it on the end of the tube.

Aramis had finished his task and was now standing beside her, watching her intensely. He quickly had figured out what the tube was meant to do and that it might make the difference between death and life. "Do we have to put the tube in and take it out every time we want him to drink something?"

"No, it's thin enough to insert it through the nose, so it can stay there without making the patient gag."

"Wait," Porthos fell in, "you're saying, you're gonna push that thing through Athos' nose?"

"Yes," she confirmed.

"But..."

"Trust me I've done it before, multiple times. It works." Looking every man in the eyes, she received reluctant nods from Porthos and Athos. They were not completely convinced, but willing to believe her, whereas Aramis seemed eager to try, renewed hope shimmering in his eyes. "One of you must fix his head," she said.

"D'Artagnan?" Aramis said in a mix between ordering and asking.

"Of course." Resuming his seat at his injured brother's side, the Gascon gently put his hands at his cheeks. "Athos, it's me," he started speaking in a low voice. "I need you to do something for me. You must stay still the next few minutes, even if we're doing a strange thing. But I promise we won't hurt you, it may feel odd, but it is necessary. We just want to help you. Trust me, please."

Elinja watched the interaction between the young man and the unconscious one with awe, although she could guess what might happen. The latter, flinching first and trying to escape the restraining hands, soon calmed down the longer the first was talking to him.

"It's marvellous, isn't it?" a voice beside her whispered.

"It is."

"He's done it multiple times now, since Athos has been wounded. Looks like the two of them have made a very special bond," the Spaniard told her. "Neither me nor Porthos have ever been able to calm Athos down like this."

Secretly smiling to herself, Elinja minded that none of the musketeers saw her face. _I knew that bond would be useful, but I never thought it would become that strong. D'Artagnan must be somewhat special, though he obviously doesn't know..._

"Come on, don't let the whelp wait any longer," Porthos waved them over, bringing her effectively out of her thoughts. "Let's get through with it."

"I take it as a good sign, that your friend is still showing some kind of reaction," Elinja stated before closing the short distance between her and the sickbed.

"As do I," Aramis agreed, regaining some of his abandoned hope again.

*14AAA41*

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Together they managed the difficult task of inserting the tube through Athos' nose and sliding it down his throat. Every time the ill man showed signs of resistance, the Gascon intensified his muttering, even arguing with him, consoling or pleading with him. And each time the wounded sobered down, at least enough to swallow when asked.

When Elinja assumed the tube had been positioned in the right place, she commanded Aramis to carefully blow some air into it. She thoroughly listened to Athos' stomach and heard the characteristic bubbling sounds, indicating the interaction of air and liquid. This convinced her that it was placed where it should be and so she started pouring down the first amount of water.

The musketeers watched her actions with doubt and much anxiety, but nothing spectacular happened, Athos neither choked nor vomited

"Amazing," Aramis finally said. "I desperately hoped it would work, but I didn't dare believe it. I think I'll get such a tube myself as soon as Athos is on the mend." Exchanging a relieved look with d'Artagnan, who gave him a confident smile, he couldn't stop smiling himself.

"I told you," the younger launched into speaking, only to be interrupted by the medic.

"Yes... You were right, I admit. It was right not to give up and instead call Elinja. So I'll never doubt your gut again. "

Porthos burst into his contagious laughter, soon followed by the other two. Elinja looked a bit confused, though couldn't help but smile as well.

Suddenly the tension that had been hanging above their heads vanished into thin air and the three men felt incredibly relaxed. Even if Athos still was unconscious, and suffering a dangerously high fever, their former diminishing confidence was returning.

Their brother would not die, not this time, and surely not today. They simply won't allow him to.

*14AAA41*

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 _There she is again... She?... Who are you?... What do you want?... No, don't go there... I don't want you in here... Go away... No... No, stay... Stay with me... Help me... Please... Help me out of here... I'm burning... The fire's killing me... I can't find the way back... It's hot... And dark... And I'm alone... Help... What are you doing here?... No, wait... I don't know you... But I know him... Did you sent him?... Will he guide me?... No, you can't leave me now... Why must you go?... Is he staying?... Yes?... He will help me... I know him... He's my brother... My little brother..._

*14AAA41*

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As soon as it had become clear that Elinja's tube was working, the Persian had instructed them how to use it properly, and what amount of liquid they had to administer. She also had suggested putting some more Propolis into the tea and what herbs to ad furthermore. Some of them Aramis was not necessarily considering as useful against infections, but respecting her greater skills in treating the severely ill, he simply complied to do as he was told while storing the information in his mind.

In the evening, it looked like Athos' heartbeat was becoming stronger, and all of them gave their thanks to Elinja again. Shortly afterwards, Treville personallly accompanied her home, not without apologizing once more for his former underestimation of her and promising to let her know about her patient's condition.

*14AAA41*

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 _I really wonder about d'Artagnan's empathy?_ Elinja thought to herself as she made her way home _._

 _Yes, the bond between him and Athos already was remarkably strong, even before I enhanced it, but how he was able to reach Athos despite his deep unconsciousness, well, that was strange. A bond like that is nothing usual._

 _The last time I witnessed something similar was years ago. Hmm... if I remember right, that was a loving couple. But I can't remember a similar bond between two men. That's really extra-ordinary._

 _I suspect d'Artagnan might be some sort of empath, so I wonder if Athos might be as well? While I was with him it felt like he could feel my presence, at least he seemed to know that something supernatural was happening to him. Did he really shout at me in his mind? But that would be quite strange, too. Might he be possibly similar to me? Or is he just very focused?_

 _No, I don't think Athos has mental powers, he would have thrown me out. But he might have some sort of intuition, perception maybe that I enhanced as well. Damn... that shouldn't happen. I didn't want to intensify his feelings._

 _What if it's been my fault that he gave up? Because my presence scared him? Wait... should I've been more careful? What if one of them notices what I've done?_

*14AAA41*

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During the following hours the three musketeers followed the schedule worked out by the two medics, and poured down the tube the specific amounts of tea, water or broth in fixed intervals. Although Athos' fever continued at an unaltered high level, he seemed to get stronger bit by bit, his skin finally regaining its resilience in the early morning.

When they had to change Athos clothes and the bed sheet midmorning, the first time after more than twenty hours, they nearly started celebrating. Aramis looked almost enthusiastic, although the colour of the ill man's urine still made him worry a bit. Porthos, on the other hand, couldn't stop himself from grinning broadly, when he carried the linens away to the laundry.

And d'Artagnan knew for sure that their brother would make it: Athos' fever would break at some point, as soon as the infection was gone, and then he simply had to wake up. They just had to be patient with him a little bit longer.

*14AAA41*

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 _It's too hot... I'm burning... But I'm not alone... There's someone... They are there... They?_

He felt like he was floating, covered in thick layers of wool, buried deep down under gallons of water, but burning from inside out at the same time. He desperately wanted something to drink, his throat feeling like it was filled with sand, his tongue lying in his mouth like a monstrous sponge. Every time he tried to move his limbs or head he felt nothing but that indifferent feeling of floating, of having lost his margin.

When he tried to reach the surface, to react to the muffled, but familiar voices he sometimes imagined hearing, the pain became overwhelming, the fire inside him rising to an even higher level. In some moments he was sure of being in hell, accepting his death and attempting to give in completely. But then he would hear that one special voice, imagine the feel of the touch of familiar hands, and start to fight again.

His mind wandered around, jumping from his earliest memories of Thomas to things he experienced with his other brothers and back to those haunting him: Anne standing beside Thomas, knife in hand, the red blooming on his brother's shirt, his manor burning down with him inside.

Once again he felt the fire consuming him, felt the pain of his losses, felt his whole body aching, and so he searched for a way to end this nightmare, clinging to the little piece of hope he vaguely could remember: the trust in his brothers.

 _Brothers?_ _... When have I had more than one brother?... I'm much too hot, I must be in hell... I had a brother once... Thomas... I'm burning... Thomas is dead, isn't he? Anne killed him, I killed her... It's hot... No, I didn't... She survived, she nearly killed me and my brothers... Why I'm so hot?... My brothers... Aramis... Porthos... I'm hot... D'Artagnan?... Too hot, much too hot..._

"D'Artagnan?"

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 _A.R._

 _So, for I can't answer you personally I'll just do it this way and hope that you might read it..._

 _I never said, nor indicated that d'Artagnan has any medical knowledge. He's just been lucky that his_ _annoyance-induced acting saved Athos' live. Eventually in the 17th century they didn't know about CPR. Although they had some basic knowledge about blood circulation and the workings of inner organs, they were far away from bringing people back to life this way. So, repeating myself, it was pure luck._

 _Maybe it felt like disparaging Aramis for you, for our beloved medic obviously is your favorite character. Believe me, I like him as well, his spirit and the way he walks through life, but also his hidden demons. There's as much depth to his character as it is to each of the others. And yet I think that they did not just gloss over that special bond. Remember the look Athos and d'Artagnan shared after the comte was rescued from the firing squad, or that d'Artagnan returned to his manor and saved him, or that Athos told him about his wife. Or how Athos reacted when he found the blood on the floor (Sleight of hand)._

 _However, I like this bond, so I write it. Simple, isn't it? Mind you, this is fiction, fan-fiction and it's my fantasy, the way I like the things to go. If that means that Aramis has to stand aside just a little bit, then please allow me to do so._

 _And yes, I very well remember the adorable scene in S2E10. It's been a surprising, unfamiliar show of affection from Athos, but understandable, for none of them knew if they would see their brother again. And that Athos is full of emotions, but refuses himself to show them, maybe because of fear of being hurt again, well... that is clear, isn't it? I really love the way he communicates that much without actually saying anything or moving more than the corner of his mouth._

 _I'm still sorry that you seem to misunderstand me as well. I never asked you to leave, in the contrary, I'd be curious to see what you think about the following chaps. But because you still insist on that misunderstanding that d'Artagnan seems to outrunning Aramis' medical knowledge, I don't know how to persuade you from the opposite. And I'm disappointed that I obviously wasn't able to make myself clear, at least for you._

 _So, finally, allow me to tell you that I've been rather surprised by your somewhat harsh reaction. Especially because I know of some 'Aramis-fans', who still follow this story and don't feel offended or disappointed by the way I 'treat' Aramis._

 _nurse13_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** _As always my thanks to those readers, I cannot answer personally -Doubtful Guest, Sarah, Debbie, AnotherGuest-, your reviews are highly appreciated! And also my special thanks to everyone who's following and favoriting this story, your support is very welcome!_

 _Just some information: Artificial nutrition is know in ancient medicine since the 4th century by Roman, Greek, Chinese and Persian healers. But in Europe the first nasogastric tube has been_ _developed first in 1644, indeed made from leather. Luckily Elinja is Persian. ;)_

 **Chapter Ten**

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"D'Artagnan!" called Porthos, who's turn it was to watch their unconscious brother, looked over to the bed where the Gascon was sleeping.

After days of refusing to sleep, last night Aramis had forced the boy to at least try to rest, 'helping' him with a gentle sleeping draught. But now he was needed again, for Athos' eyes had started to move rapidly under his lids, his limbs flinching occasionally as if he was fighting something. Even his heartbeat had quickened again, Porthos could feel his pulse pounding under his fingertips. He and d'Artagnan were alone in the room, for Aramis had left to fetch something for lunch.

Wondering a bit because his younger brother didn't wake up on his own, he chalked it up to the complete exhaustion the lad had to be in. If he had to guess, he'd say their youngest hadn't slept more than a day over the past few.

Because Athos was becoming more and more restless, his whole body shaking now and his back arching up, Porthos called again in a louder voice. "D'Artagnan!"

"Hm?" Being slow on emerging from his draught-induced sleep, the young man struggled to open his eyes, yawning aggressively.

"D'Artagnan!" Porthos repeated even louder, trying to hold his now jerking brother down.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his muddled brain, the Gascon slowly rose from the bed, staggering when the change in elevation made him feel lightheaded. "Coming," he croaked, gripping the table to steady himself and waiting a bit to regain his equilibrium.

"Seems like Athos is sufferin' a nightmare or something, he's much too restless and his heart is racin'. Aramis said..."

"I know...he mustn't come under stress for his heart might fail. But I don't think..."

"I don't give a crap what you're thinkin'. Get your little ass over here, now!" Porthos grunted. "All this tossin' can't be good for him."

*14AAA41*

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Fire... the fire was burning as hot as never before. He was drowning in a sea of fire, choking on it, screaming in pain without hearing the tiniest sound. Every involuntarily twitch ignited another white burning flame racing along his nerves, crashing against his spine, leaving him unable to move, unable to think.

 _Fire... Burning ... Fire... Fire... Burning... Help... Help... Help..._

*14AAA41

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"Porthos, that's not tossing," d'Artagnan realized upset, "he's seizing." He took a seat at the sickbed, touching Athos' forehead with his fingers. "His fever has increased further, we must cool him down immediately."

"But the convulsions, what do we do against it?" the bigger musketeer wanted to know.

"They're the result of the fever. If we can bring his temperature down, they'll stop. Go, bring the bucket with cold water and as many towels as you can."

Although astonished by his younger brother's knowledge, Porthos hesitated not a single second, but hurried to bring the water and every piece of linen he could grab. While d'Artagnan kept talking to Athos, cooling his forehead and neck with damp linens, Porthos started putting more dripping wet pieces onto his arms, torso and legs.

*14AAA41*

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Carrying a tray full of bread and a big steaming bowl of stew, Aramis opened the door with a push of his hip. "Time for lunch, messieurs, I propose to..." stopping midsentence he stared at the scene in front of him. "What the hell..."

"Athos' fever has increased, he started seizing minutes before, we're trying to cool him down. Go and try to get some ice, I don't think the water's cold enough." D'Artagnan's voice was determined, tolerating no dissent.

Pushing his questions to the back of his mind, the Spaniard turned on his heels and made his way to the ice-cellar. He could only agree with his brother's diagnosis and the treatment he had started, although it was really surprising that d'Artagnan knew what to do and that he simply had commanded him. The boy was developing some astonishing self-confidence. He quickly filled two buckets with the glistening mass and hurried back to Athos' room. They immediately had to cool down Athos enough to stop him seizing, otherwise he would die despite all their efforts

The medic stormed through the still open door, then dumped a part of the ice into the water buckets. Wrapping some of it into one of the towels, he handed it over to d'Artagnan, who placed it on his mentor's chest. The next icy package was laid down at Athos' groin, every contact making the ill man flinch.

*14AAA41*

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He still was burning, the agony never ending. But for him being in hell, this state presumably would last forever.

 _Hell... I'm in hell... I'm dead and I'm burning for my sins... It's what I deserve...I'm doomed... Where are you?... I'm alone... Nobody's here... There's no voice any more... No one... I'm burning... Hot... Dark...Alone... Forever... Forever burning... Fire everywhere... Outside... Inside... Do I really deserve this?... Lord... You're supposed to show mercy... I confess, I denied you... I've been angry with you...I still am... But... How long do I have to suffer?... Didn't I suffer enough in lifetime?... Seeing my brother murdered... Watching my beloved wife hang... Feeling guilty for making her what she actually is... Guilty... I'm guilty... Guilty of abandoning my brothers... Brothers_... _Cold_...

Heavenly coldness, on his head, his chest, everywhere... Merciful coldness, dispelling some of the fire from his body, making him able to think a more properly and to remember vaguely what had happened. The chill spreading through his entire being made him relax, made the pain recede to a bearable level, clearing his muddled brain a tiny bit.

 _Pinon... Despair... Guilt... Hope...Forgiveness...Pain... Riding with d'Artagnan... Darkness... Letting go... Pain... Voices talking... Pleading... Shouting... I want to answer, but can't... Pain... Dark... Alone... Burning... Everything is too difficult... Moving is impossible... More pain... Fire... Presence in my mind... Hands on my skin... Not alone... Voices... Familiar voices... Friendly warmth... No longer alone... My little brother's voice... I'm not alone... Are you gonna bring me out of here?... Who are you?... Thomas?..._

*14AAA41*

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"I think it's working," Aramis dared say after what seemed to be an eternity, but in reality just a couple of minutes, as he watched the convulsions waning.

Athos's body seemed to relax, his limbs falling limply at his sides, the tension of his torso lessening. His breathing, unsteady and shallow moments before, evened out and after one deep in- and exhale, returned to a normal rate. Casting a glance to the headboard, Aramis received a reassuring nod from d'Artagnan, whose hand had never left its place at the ill man's neck.

"His pulse is slowing down, becoming steady again and his temperature seems to be decreasing although it's still at a high level. He's doing a bit better," the younger declared, before he resumed his murmuring, stroking back the hair clinging to his brother's face.

There was a first sign of sweat glinting on Athos' forehead, a tiny indication that the fever might break eventually. It had lasted over more than four days despite everything they had tried to break it. Had it not been for Elinja's stomach tube, the wounded man would have died by now, his circulation breaking down because of fluid depletion. But thanks to her, they had been able to prevent that.

Aramis had seen many men die because of fever, even if not wounded mortally. That was one of the reasons why he was always determined to clean all wounds as soon, and as neatly, as possible. Fever took more men away than battles did, making no difference between young or old, male or female, nobleman or peasant. Athos, though, had been severely wounded, and had it not been for the Persian healer, he would have died from either the internal bleeding or the fever, or perhaps, a combination of the both. But instead he was improving, and that seemed more like a miracle to the medic than anything else.

Unable to resist checking Athos' condition on himself, Aramis first touched Athos' forehead, than his neck, and found his brother's pulse indeed much stronger than the last days. He couldn't stifle the relieved sigh that escaped him and looked over to Porthos, who was seated and the end of the bed.

"Seems like we've weathered this crisis," Porthos mumbled. "At least for now," he added, sounding weary and quite too near to giving up for Aramis' liking.

"If he's starting to sweat, we might have weathered it all," the medic corrected his brother, looking once more over to the headboard where d'Artagnan remained sitting, his one hand placed on its somewhat traditional spot on Athos' chest, while he was wiping his mentor's face with another damp rag.

"He's still feeling hot to the touch but not as dry as before. His skin is becoming dampish, I guess," the Gascon stopped midsentence, eyes closed, hands on Athos' bare skin. Then he looked up and smiled, "I'm rather sure this attack was the turning point, he's definitely feeling better," he then confirmed, before turning his attention back. "Athos?... Athos, you've made us worry long enough, I think it's time for you to wake up again, unless, needless to say, you've prepared another bad surprise for your brothers. But I tell you now: Don't dare to challenge me again, for I promised you I'd never let you go! You very well know how stubborn I am. Leaving us is no option and that you do know, too. Come on... I know you can hear me," the young musketeer argued with his still unconscious mentor.

Aramis shared another quick glance with Porthos, both men had noticed the Gascon's apparently increased ability of 'reading' Athos. It almost seemed like he now was able to look inside their wounded brother, to feel what Athos was feeling. This was more than the 'gut-feeling' they had discussed some nights before. None of them could remember having seen such a thing before and it made them a little bit worried. Although all of them had formed a really strong bond, each of them sensing when one of the others was in trouble, what they just had witnessed was something special, perhaps even something dangerous. Might d'Artagnan possibly even be able to 'read' them as well, if he tried to?

The two older musketeers briefly perked their eyebrows up and simultaneously gave a tiny shake of their heads. No one must know.

*14AAA41*

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The fire was retreating, although he still felt uncomfortably warm. And he felt wet, a bit like he was soaked to the bones, as if he had been standing in the pouring rain for hours- which would just be logical considering his former sensation of floating under gallons of water. But he didn't feel like drifting in the water any more, he suddenly sensed himself lying on something, the floating was gone. Concentrating on the new sensation, he realized that his back was aching as if he'd lied down too long. Actually, his whole body was aching, every little part of it...

 _Wait... if I'm not in the water, why am I feeling wet?... And where's the fire gone?... Is my punishment over?... I am dead, am I not?... I've died from the stab wound, haven't I?... But if I have, why's the fire gone?... This can't have been eternity... Or was it?... Is it still hell?... Just a tiny break to deceive me... To cosy me along?... Damn... I can't think... Who's there?... Thomas?..._

*14AAA41*

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"Maybe you should take a short break, d'Artagnan?" Porthos suggested, seeing the fine trembling marking his youngest brother's exhaustion. He remembered him stumbling over to the sickbed two hours before, looking dead on his feet after he had called him.

Aramis and he also had stayed at Athos' side, washing the sweat away from the wounded man's body which he was finally producing. The youngest, for his part, had remained seated at the headboard, never breaking skin-contact and talking constantly.

"Although the stew will be cooled down by now, there's still some baguette and cheese you can eat. And you should drink something," Porthos continued, when he got no audible answer.

A slight shake of his head was the only sign of understanding the Gascon made, not breaking his talking a single moment. The young musketeer felt guilty because he hadn't woken up by himself when he was needed, instead Porthos had had to call him. Besides, somehow he knew he must not stop what he was doing right now, for his strange feeling had come back again. He could outright feel Athos' confusion in exact this moment and how his friend was fighting to come back to them, so he would do anything to make it easier for his mentor to bring him back to the living.

Sighing, Aramis replaced the warmed wet linens at Athos' legs with cold ones, making him flinch again. Porthos followed his example, changing those put on his torso, provoking a low moan from the injured man.

"Did you hear that?" the burly musketeer asked, exchanging glances with the others.

D'Artagnan only smiled briefly as he concentrated on his task, so Porthos looked expectantly at Aramis.

"Yes, it's his first reaction to anything we've done since Elinja put the tube down his throat," the medic confirmed. "It looks like he's not as far away as before."

"And the whelp knew that Athos is trying to come back to us...yet again," Porthos muttered.

Signaling his brother without speaking, the Spaniard rose and walked over to the table. When Porthos accompanied him he started speaking in a low voice. "Let's be a bit reasonable and refill our energy-reserves. If the whelp's behaviour is any sign and Athos is really waking up, then we'll have to take care of both of them later on, because I'm absolutely sure our youngest will collapse as soon as he's sure Athos is out of the woods."

Taking a quick look, Porthos could only agree. "I'm still a bit surprised he knew what to do when Athos started seizing."

"Maybe he's watched something similar before. I'll ask him later."

"Mmh..."

*14AAA41*

.

Trying to take stock of his condition, Athos struggled to blow the cobwebs away. He was able to hear someone talking to him, but he could not really understand the meaning of words.

"Athos, please... I'm sure you're with me. You can hear me, can't you? I know you must be hurting, I know waking up is difficult, fighting the pain you must be in isn't easy, but please... Do it for me. No, do it for all of us. We need you with us, Athos. Please come back to us... You had us waiting for more than a week now, I haven't slept much more than twenty hours overall, and I'm really, really exhausted. But I can't rest properly unless you give a sign of life."

He knew the voice; it belonged to his little brother. He was guiding him, showing him the way to reach the surface.

 _Thomas?... No... It's not Thomas... Thomas is dead... I remember, he was killed by my wife... But I've found new brothers...More than one... Or did they find me?... I think they adopted me... They saved me from drinking me to death... Aramis...Porthos... Brothers in all but blood... My family... They are my family now... My younger brothers... But it's not them talking now... There's someone else... Younger... I know him... Not as long as the others, but I know him... Very well... We're similar... He's another little brother... More like Thomas... Or me, as I was younger... Reckless, brave, impulsive... And even more wide-hearted... My little brother..._

"You've been mortally wounded, but the wound's healing well. You nearly died the first night, scared me to death, but I brought you back. I dragged you back from death's door more times than I want to count actually, and still you're not really listening. You. Must. Wake. Up! ... Now!"

 _Really? I never thought d'Artagnan could be that bossy... Wait… That was… D'Artagnan?... It's you?..._

Fighting his leaden limbs, and cursing his heavy eyelids, Athos struggled to finally reach the surface of his muddled mind. He was tired, his left side was hurting infernally, as was his back, and he was suffering a monstrous headache. Truth be told, there were few parts of his body that didn't hurt. Even his hair hurt...

He'd like to drift back into the darkness again like the many times before, to be free from the all-consuming pain, but...

 _I have to listen... My bossy little brother wants me to wake up... So I must at least try._..

Forcing his eyelids open, and squinting against the unfamiliar light, Athos slowly turned his head into the direction the words were coming from. Blinking, he tried to clear his blurry vision and felt relief as a familiar, although worried and tired looking face, came into focus.

"Athos?" An unbelieving whisper reached his ears.

Trying to form words with his dry mouth, and ordering his heavy tongue to work, the swordsman nearly despaired because his body wasn't obedient. Doubling his efforts, he finally managed to utter one syllable, his voice hoarse and not more than a whiff.

"D'Art..."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** _Well, let me tell you first that I'm just a bit sad about some reactions I got about the last chaps. Obviously there are some undiscerning readers out there, who cannot accept that_ _this is a) my story, my fantasy and b) that Aramis, although quite skilled, isn't a doctor. I'm pretty aware that I cannot please every reader, that I've never intended. But what makes me feel annoyed is the way you expressed your opinion. Yes, I appreciate constructive critic, which may help me to become a better writer. But almost scolding an author, just because the story does not go as hoped or expected, well... that's rather unfair, isn't it? You're absolutely allowed to tell me that you're disappointed with my view of the boys or how I describe their relationships. But please be so kind and do it in a way that does not make me feel like you're offending me._

 _This is MY story and I wrote it how I liked it. I'd never tell another author that I don't like the way his/her fantasy is going, because it's HIS (or hers). And if you cannot accept that there are different point of views, different ways a situation or a character is seen, then better keep quiet. There's no need to get personal!_

 _Enough with that... THANKS to Debbie, A reader, Sarah, AnotherGuest and Doubtful Guest for your reviews, I'm glad you're still with me._

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 **Chapter Eleven**

 **.**

D'Artagnan had never felt this tired his entire life, the sleep deprivation making him feel sluggish. He allowed himself to close his eyes for just a moment, still going on with his talking, feeling the sweat still emitting from Athos' skin and wetting his hand.

Lifting his heavy eyelids again, he gently touched his mentor's forehead, ascertaining his temperature had decreased another bit. Smiling in relief, he launched into informing the two men sitting at the table when he saw a movement from the corner of his eye. Turning his attention back to the man lying in front of him he noticed the altered position of the head and the fluttering of the eyelids.

"Athos?" he whispered, not daring to believe his eyes.

The eyes of the ill man finally opened and his gaze fixed on him and he could see that he was trying to speak. Bringing his head nearer to his wounded brother's mouth, he still almost missed the tiny word. "D'Art..."

"I'm here." Watching his Athos' lips move, he cupped the sweaty cheek with on hand. "Sh,sh.. don't try to speak right now, you're mouth must be dry like the desert. Wait," The Gascon straightened himself, a broad grin appearing on his face, and looked over to the table where his other two brothers still chatted in low voices.

"Aramis!" he called out.

"Hmm..?" The medic, still concentrating on the food in front of him, didn't even look in his direction.

"Can you bring me a cup of water?" D'Artagnan tried, but he couldn't keep the joy from his voice.

But Aramis didn't notice. "So, you've decided to not be parched now?" he retorted, sounding a bit sarcastic. "Would Monsieur like something to eat as well?"

D'Artagnan thought briefly about his answer and decided to cut it short. "No, thank you. But when I reconsider it, maybe Athos would prefer some wine."

"Wine... The pup's becoming discerning," Porthos grumbled, grabbing an empty cup. Then freezing in the midst of the motion he and Aramis spoke simultaneously.

"Athos?"

Getting up from their chairs, and pushing them halfway across the room, they were at the sickbed in an instant.

"You forgot the wine," d'Artagnan said dryly, laughing inwardly at his fellow's astonished faces.

"Is he really awake?" Aramis asked, reaching out to check Athos' pulse.

"He doesn't look like it, he's not moving. Are you sure?" Porthos added.

Although he was sweating heavily, still feeling immensely tired and unsure if he could even move, Athos slowly turned his head in their direction. He was amply rewarded for his effort by watching their expressions change from disbelief to relief and at last to pure joy.

"You are awake," Aramis stated the obvious.

"Why's he not speakin'?" Porthos questioned.

"The wine?" the Gascon reminded him.

"Of course," the medic mentally hit his forehead, "his mouth must be dry." Turning on his heels he hastened back to the table, poured a bit of wine into a cup and mixed it with water before he returned.

Meanwhile, d'Artagnan and Porthos had managed to lift Athos so that he was now resting against some pillows. His eyes had closed again, but his slightly laboured breathing and the small movement of his head into Aramis' direction implied that he still was awake.

Supporting his head and placing the cup against the dried lips, the medic could barely suppress his sigh of ease when the ill man started to swallow on his own.

*14AAA41*

.

The cool liquid moistening Athos' lips and his tongue became a nearly overwhelming sensation. Even if the taste wasn't the right one, it didn't matter, because he couldn't remember ever feeling that thirsty his whole life through, not even during one of his worst hangovers. Although it soon became challenging to swallow, because every sip elicited a painful sensation at the back of his throat, he drank everything he was offered. The little task left him exhausted and breathless, his head lolling back, but he refused to fall asleep again. _Not yet_...

Forcing his eyes open again he caught the look of his brothers' still concerned but, also delightful faces.

"Aramis," he croaked, shifting his gaze from one to another. "Porthos.."

"Yeah...Can't believe you're really back," the large musketeer said with a broad smile on his face.

"How are you feeling?" the medic intervened.

Thinking about the question briefly, the former comte simply uttered three words. "Thirsty.. tired.. hurting." Even speaking hurt now, especially in his throat, so he wearily tried to lift one hand but found himself unable to finish the action.

"No, don't try to move, it's alright. What's bothering you is the stomach tube we had to make use of," d'Artagnan explained, sensing what he was going for, "to make sure of you not dying of dehydration. As soon as you're able to drink enough on your own, Aramis will remove it."

Once again Athos turned his head in the direction of his little brother's voice, not quite understanding what he was talking about, but simply trusting him. The hint of a smile quirking his mouth, he briefly shut his eyes. "Fair.. enough."

"Want another drink?" he heard Aramis asking him.

Struggling to reopen his eyes, the swordsman tilted his head and soon found the next cup nudging his lips. Again enjoying the wonderful cool and wet experience of simply drinking, he emptied this cup too, despite the odd feeling in the back of his throat. Then another question crossed his mind. "How long?"

"Almost ten days," the medic answered, guessing what his brother wanted to know.

The Spaniard's answer somewhat shocked Athos, he could not possibly have been unconscious for over a week. "Why... I'm not ... dead?"

"Simply because of the unwavering strength of our young Gascon," was the honest reply, coming from Aramis once more. "He firmly denied letting you go."

His brother's words prompted even more questions, but the swordsman felt too tired to ask them now.

"It's alright, go to sleep again," d'Artagnan told him, once more sensing his needs. "We'll tell you everything next time you wake up."

"You must rest," the medic confirmed. "You may be out of the woods, but you're still seriously ill."

"Sleep, Athos, we'll all be here when you awake next time," Porthos soothed him.

"Mmh..." Listening to his brothers' voices he allowed his drained body to go back to sleep, involuntarily leaning into the youngest' still offered touch. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath, flinching when the movement pulled at his ribs, before he surrendered to the tiredness.

*14AAA41*

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Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan crossed eyes, each of them seeing the relief in the other's and sharing it deeply.

"I can barely believe he's really wakened," Porthos stated. "I almost thought…" he stopped midsentence, dropping heavily onto the mattress.

"Yeah, I know…" Aramis agreed, reaching over the bed and squeezing his shoulder. "When I returned from the kitchen and saw him seizing…" the medic took a deep breath, before looked at their youngest, cocking his head. "By the way," he began, regarding the boy with curiosity, "wherefrom did you know what to do when the fever cramps started?"

D'Artagnan closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened them again, both his older brothers could see the grief therein. "It's been years ago, when I was about thirteen. One of my friends fell ill with some feverish disease. My father told me to stay away from him for not catching it as well, but one day I ignored his advice; I just missed Jehane and I was worried. So I sneaked into his room and sat down at his side. He was burning with fever, barely conscious, and of course he didn't recognise me, but I stayed nevertheless, trying to arouse him. And then the seizures started…" the young man paused and shuddered. "I was confused, I shouldn't have been there, and I didn't know what to do. I just sat there and stared at him, terrified, unable to move. Only when he started gasping for breath, when his skin turned blue, I came back to my senses and called his mother for help. She rushed into the room and immediately begun cooling him down," his voice faded.

"Did he survive?" Aramis asked, already guessing what the answer would be, and gripped the boy's leg.

"In the end not," d'Artagnan continued. "He survived this first attack, but it happened again and again during the next days and… well… eventually it simply was too much." Taking another deep breath, he shook his head to push the memories to the back of his mind, suddenly feeling beyond exhausted.

"I'm sorry," the medic said, watching his youngest brother intensely and noticing how miserable he was looking. "Did you fall ill?"

"No, I was lucky. But my father was really pissed off and he made me feel it. Back then I didn't understand at once, only days later, when we went to the funeral… well… the possibility of losing me, too, had terrified him." The Gascon smiled sadly. "However, I'll never forget this evening, the scaring sight of my best friend's body convulsing, his fighting for breath…"

"And the only way to treat it," Aramis added. "So Athos has been lucky again because you had some experience with fever cramps. Enough to command us what to do…" he grinned.

D'Artagnan looked slightly embarrassed. "Yeah… well… sorry for that," he said. "But I feared we'd run out of time and…"

"No need for apologies, pup," Porthos interrupted him. "If it saves Athos' life or Aramis' or mine, feel free to take charge again." He winked.

With a huff the Gascon once more shook his head, this time grinning slightly, before turning his attention back to the sleeping man.

Seeing the young man's shoulders slump with exhaustion, the two older musketeers exchanged glances, communicating silently. Then Porthos walked around the sickbed, grasping his little brother's arm, and gently pulled him to his feet.

" **You** will eat now and drink, and then rest", he commanded, emphasizing the 'you' and leaving his little brother no chance of defence by simply dragging him with him.

"I don't think I'll be able to..." d'Artagnan started to speak, before his remaining energy drained all at once. Getting rid of his self-imposed duty of watching his oldest brother, his body shut down almost immediately. One moment he was stumbling along with Porthos, the other his knees were buckling, and he would have crumpled to the ground had it not been for the burly musketeer keeping him upright.

"D'Artagnan!" Porthos called out, pulling him to his chest.

"Sorry," the dead weight in his arms mumbled. "Just wanna sleep..." he let his eyelids close and went completely limp.

"Let's lay him down," Aramis ordered, lifting d'Artagnans feet and nodding to the pallet on the ground.

When they had tucked the young man in bed, carefully covering him with blankets, both of them walked back to the table.

"I told you this would happen," the Spaniard said, sounding tired, bracing his hands on the wooden surface.

"Mmh... the lad is stubborn as a mule," Porthos agreed. "He always puts his brother's needs before his own. Especially, if it's Athos who needs him."

"And even if he's nearly killing himself by acting like that. Do you think he'll ever understand that that's not the meaning of 'one for all'?" the medic posed a more rhetorical question.

"No, pretty sure not. But he's not the only one, is he?" Casting his brother a firm glance, the big man grinned.

Deciding to ignore the insinuation, Aramis straightened. "So, it seems like we have two patients now," he stated, sighing. "I think I'll go and report to Treville, he'll want to know that Athos is on the mend."

"Maybe you should suggest informing Elinja, too. We promised we would."

"Of course, as if I'd forget that," Aramis retorted, sounding slightly annoyed. "You'd better keep a close eye on them," he grunted, walking towards the door.

"What else would I do?" Porthos responded, taking a seat and pouring some of the wine into his abandoned cup. "What else..." he repeated after the door had closed, raising the cup to himself.

*14AAA41*

.

Treville shared their relief after being told about Athos' condition, and shook his head when hearing about d'Artagnan. The Captain had accompanied Aramis back to Athos' room, to assure himself that the swordsman was indeed recovering. For he didn't want to disturb the convalescent, Treville only looked briefly into the room, seeing the wounded man asleep and looking better. So, whilst Aramis and Porthos debated whose turn it was to watch their sleeping brothers, the Captain took it upon himself to go and tell Elinja.

Because it had been a nice, sunny day and the sun had just started to set, he decided to take a walk, needing some time for himself to clear his mind of the anxiety he'd been experiencing the last week. If asked, he'd never admit his overwhelming concern, but to be honest, he had had some difficulties in concentrating on his normal tasks while there was no sign of Athos getting better. Even if he wasn't Captain of the musketeers any longer, he still looked after the paperwork. But that had been an almost impossible task while desperately waiting for some good news.

*14AAA41*

.

Deep in his thoughts of what to do the next day, planning the distribution of tasks, Treville reached his destination. He climbed the two steps of Lemay's abode, knocked on the door and waited. A servant opened the door and after a quick introduction, vanished back into the house. When the Persian medic appeared, she looked at him first with concern, then, seeing his relaxed expression, she started to smile.

"Athos has wakened," she declared instead of a greeting, which had him tilting his head in slight confusion. Her smile broadening she asked him in while explaining herself. "If things had gone worse, first, you'd have sent one of your men, because you wouldn't have dared to leave, and second, you would definitely look much more worried."

Astonished, Treville took a seat on the chair she pointed to after he had waited politely for her to sit down first. "You're right," he confirmed. "Aramis has just told me that Athos' fever has broken and that he's been awake a short time and coherent enough to recognize them all and to remember that he's been injured. He also told me to express his gratitude for your life-saving suggestion of the stomach tube. It's his opinion that Athos would have died from the blood loss and the following dehydration caused by the fever if you hadn't inserted the tube."

Elinja simply shrugged and smiled. "It was an obvious solution, back home I've used it many times. How's d'Artagnan doing?"

Treville kept silent, though he was confused because she especially asked for the Gascon.

"He's collapsed, hasn't he?" she continued.

The Captain, startled, could do nothing but nod, his mouth slightly agape. "How could you possibly know that?"

Elinja chuckled, realizing her question had aroused the Captain's curiosity. "Well, I'm very good at reading people and their intuitive natures. I'm not good with environments though. I can't read an area and tell you anything about it, like your garrison for instance. I have no idea how many men are stationed there or anything like that, so I'm of no use as a spy I assure you. My observation skills are fixed on people, especially the ones I'm caring for, as well as their friends and family."

She paused to gage the Captain's reaction to her statement. Feeling safe to continue, she said, "D'Artagnan was wearing himself out, that was clear to be seen. Aramis and Porthos have been very much concerned too, neglecting their own needs while tending to Athos as well. But your young Gascon is somehow special. How he acted around Athos, and how he could sense him giving up," she let her voice fade, before she continued. "D'Artagnan explained to me how he could sense Athos giving up, and well, I've never heard of anything like that before. It makes me feel like they are more than friends, more than brothers or even family."

"Hmm..." Treville briefly considered her statement. "If I recollect right, he was the first to recognize that Athos had been wounded. I didn't pick up on that on the road back fro Pinon, but from what Porthos told me later, d'Artagnan knew that Athos would soon pass out."

"Do you know if this works the other way round, too?" she asked, against her better judgement to maintain the facade of ignorance.

"I'm not quite sure about that, because d'Artagnan hasn't been severely wounded, but I guess... Maybe not as clearly, but Athos has acted sometimes a bit strange when the boy's been in danger."

"Yes," she started thoughtfully, "that sounds logical. D'Artagnan is definitely very empathetic when it comes to Athos. I could sense that when we first met. He seemed to suffer along with him, much more than the others did."

Furling his eyebrows, Treville stared at her, suddenly becoming aware of her choice of words. "Wait, what do you mean, when you say you could sense it? How?" he asked. Not waiting for her answer, he continued. "From the first time we met you've seemed to be privy to information you can't possibly know. Who are you really, Mistress bint Amis?"

Breathing slowly, Elinja pondered her possible answers. Telling Treville the truth would only shock him and put her in danger. Even if she felt rather secure that she could trust him and his men, she hadn't known them long enough to confide in them such a secret. Taking another slow breath, she made her decision. She would use her power to distract him, enhancing his uncertainty and doubt about supernatural things, and then tell him just a part of the truth -the safe part, the normal part- to satisfy him.

Reaching out, she touched him very delicately to make sure he didn't notice, before she started to explain. "I'm a Persian healer, just as I told you. And I'm indeed observant. I can read people's expressions and behaviour, even their posture very well. Every human being is sending tiny signals all the time. Most people see them, but they don't notice, they don't understand. I see those signals, every little hint of them, and I can read them. So what I told you, or the questions I asked you, all are the result of interpreting hidden signs." She stopped and locked her gaze with Treville's. "Right now I can see your unease, your curiosity. You're not quite sure if you still can trust me, you think I kept a secret. You even fear I might be somewhat special. But I'm not. I'm just a woman blessed with extraordinary observation skills."

Feeling embarrassed and surprisingly dizzy, Treville turned his head away. There was something he couldn't put his finger on, a thought that seemed to vanish when he tried to concentrate. Maybe in time he would remember, but now... Now, Elinja was absolutely right. She indeed was an extraordinary woman: she was talented, compassionate, intelligent and brave. But she for sure wasn't supernatural.

"I apologize," he said after a short while.

"Accepted," she answered with a small smile.

"Maybe you can show me some of those signs and teach me how to read them? It's a very useful skill, I'd say," the Captain then changed topic.

Elinja laughed. "It's nothing you can learn in one evening. But I can help you to start and then you might be able to study on your own..."

*14AAA41*

.

She had done as she had offered for nearly an hour before the Captain had risen and got ready to leave, thanking her for the lesson and for saving Athos.

"Thank you for informing me, Captain Treville. And also for the confidence you put in me, even if I forced you to trust me with my stubbornness to not leave." She grinned impishly, looking much younger.

"I'm grateful you did so. You saved the life of one of my best men, I can never..."

"No thanks needed, Captain", she replied extending her hand, which he took and gently kissed.

"However, the musketeers will never forget," he said. "And if you're in any need of help, call us."

"I will, thank you." She watched him leave and called after him. "And Captain..."

"Yes?"

"If you don't object, I'll maybe visit Athos and his friends before I leave for Spain. I'd like to say good-bye."

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 _Just to make myself clear:_

 _I see Aramis as a skilled medic, regarding battlefield medicine. But not as a doctor, never matching for example Lemay in knowledge. After all, he first is a soldier. But he also is a heartly, great man, a real, honest friend, who does know about his flaws, and who accepts that he doesn't know everything. That there are people, who are more skilled, more educated. Yes, he's one of Athos' oldest friends, but he also can accept that there's now someone else. And he's happy with it._

 _nurse13_


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** _Thank you so much for all the nice and encouraging reviews! I really, really enjoyed them all! Special thanks to: Sarah, Ruth, A reader, AnotherGuest, Christine, Debbie, Doubtful Guest and everyone else, whom I cannot answer personally. Your support means a lot! So here's the next chap, enjoy!_

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 **Chapter Twelve**

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During the night Athos woke up twice, still not able to do much more than speak a few words and drink the offered tea and water. The second time he had complained a bit about having to drink such distasteful liquids, but none of his brothers would relent.

He'd been in pain each time he'd been awake, his left side and back still sore and his ribs aching with every tiny movement he made, especially when trying to breathe deeply. But he had also been far too tired to even think about asking for anything to fight against it and simply trusted Aramis to think on his behalf.

Also, both times he had had been awake, he'd felt like he was missing something, or someone, but his mind had been too muddled from exhaustion and medicine to be able to put a finger on it. But at least those two things had made him sleep deeply, keeping his nightmares at bay and allowing him to take his first step into recovery.

The early morning, the following day, found Athos awake once more; lying calmly in the bed he couldn't remember getting in, and in a room he couldn't quite recognize. His fever hadn't completely left, but it had decreased dramatically, leaving him sweat-soaked, sticky and feeling disgusting. The mattress he was lying on was damp, as were the blankets that covered him. Deciding to ignore that for now, he slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the morning sun peaking through the half closed window and hoping to orient himself with his surroundings.

The first thing he saw was Porthos resting on a stool near his bed. He was slumped across the mattress from obvious exhaustion, and snoring softly. Smirking, Athos turned his head and found Aramis sitting at the table, his head resting on his arms, equally deep asleep.

Taking a closer look at his surroundings, he found that he was in his room at the garrison. _At least not in the infirmary_ , he thought with relief, because he simply hated that place and avoided it whenever he could. _But there's something amiss_... Once again reflecting on what he had been missing earlier, he suddenly remembered...

"D'Artagnan," he muttered, lifting his head to further search the room. The pain that little motion caused, caught him off guard and left him unable to stifle his moan. Holding his breath, he squeezed his eyes shut to ride out the pain, but it took longer than expected. The lack of oxygen made him feel dizzy, his inability to breathe bringing him to near panic.

*14AAA41*

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"Athos, breathe."

Athos' moan had awoken Porthos, who was now trying to sooth his brother. Repeating the action, he had seen Aramis performing more than a week before, the burly man took one of his panting brother's hands and guided it to his chest. "Breathe with me," he said, keeping the hand tight against his chest as he took and released slow, steady breaths.

After a few, long moments, Porthos noticed the pain ease from his brother's face and his breathing managed to slow down. Soon he was no longer needed to control his friend's respirations, even though they were still unsteady and shallow. But as far as Porthos was concerned, Athos was getting enough oxygen to his lungs now, so he let out a sigh of relief and let his friend breathe on his own.

"You all right now?" the large musketeer asked, concern evident in his voice

"Give him a little more time," Aramis chimed in. He had been aroused by Porthos' voice and had joined him at the bedside. "He must be in tremendous pain, considering the effects of the fever cramps, his broken ribs and the still healing wound."

"I wonder why d'Artagnan hasn't woken yet," the large musketeer said. "Do you think...?"

"No, the whelp's alright, he's just completely worn out. Remember, he hasn't slept decently the last few days, so there's much to catch up with. And if it's still 'listening to his gut', then I take his lack of awareness as a very good sign."

"Listening .. to his .. gut?"

"Athos, it's good to hear your voice. How is the pain?" the medic asked, ignoring the question the swordsman had asked, as he was glad to see his friend awake again.

"Bearable," uttered Athos, still a bit breathless.

"Hmm," replied Aramis, knowing very well that Athos was understating his condition. "How do you feel?"

"Still tired... sticky… and simply ...disgusting."

Aramis couldn't suppress the smile appearing on his face, for if Athos, even weary and weak as a kitten, sounded annoyed, he was coming back to his usual self. "That's no surprise. Your fever has significantly decreased, making you sweat and wetting everything around you. If you're up to it, we can change the sheets and blankets and wash off the remains of sweat."

"Hrrmpf…"

"But if you prefer, we also can leave you wallowin' in your own secretions," Porthos took over, a teasing grin adorning his face. "Perhaps you're the sort that likes that sort of thing?"

Athos did his best to give his brother the well-known stare, but that only made the man grin even broader. With a sigh, Athos then nodded his consent, realizing that he wouldn't be able to take care of himself.

Then, remembering there was an unanswered question, he fixed his gaze on Aramis. "What's that… about… 'listening to his gut'?" he repeated his question in a clipped voice.

"Porthos, would you go and fetch some warm water, a couple of rags and some new sheets and blankets?" Aramis asked, ignoring Athos for the moment. "And find a fresh set of braies, it will be needed too."

The burly man tilted his head with a nod and left the room.

A flush of redness covered Athos' cheeks, even if he knew he needn't be embarrassed at being undressed by his friends. He had been unconscious for days, and the others must have changed his cloths most likely several times before. Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, he returned to his previous query. "Aramis..."

"Aah, yes, the gut-thing," interjected Aramis, after Porthos had left the room. "I'll tell you, but first you might want to drink this." Grabbing a cup, he supported Athos' head once more.

He remembered the scent and also, that the draught tasted as bad as it smelled. Wrinkling his nose at the pungent smell, the swordsman tried to turn his head away, without success of course.

"Athos, please. You'll need it when we're going to change those sheets, for moving you will hurt a lot."

Making another sound of annoyance, the ill man then started to drink and downed the cup in one gulp, despite the distress the act of swallowing caused him. Exhaling slowly after holding his breath, he shuddered with disgust, hissing when his movement aggravated the pain in his body again.

"Are you alright?" Aramis asked.

"Hmm...Can you remove...the tube now?"

"I think I can. But it will be quite unpleasant. Maybe we'll wait until the potion starts to work?"

Thinking briefly, Athos shook his head. "No...I want to… get rid of it. Just ...do it."

"As you wish." The medic seized the tube and prepared to pull slowly. "You'll do best if you breathe slow and steady. And tell me if you get sick," he warned his brother.

"Mmh-hm."

The movement in the back of his throat made Athos feel nauseous almost instantly. But he concentrated on keeping his breathing steady and let out a moan of relief as soon it was done. The urgent feeling of having to vomit stayed a while, making him feel very uncomfortable. But he imagined that vomiting would probably cause more pain- which of course would lead to having to drink more of that vile potion. And since that sounded worse than the pain, he decided to keep the contents of his stomach right where they belonged.

*14AAA41*

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Aramis saw Athos paling and thought of fetching the chamber pot, but when he watched his friend fighting the queasiness he decided to distract him instead.

"Back to the gut-thing," he said, trying to focus his friend's mind away from vomiting. "It's quite simple. Every time you were in danger, it was d'Artagnan who knew first, sometimes even before **you** knew." By seeing his brother's confused expression, he explained further. "Do you remember anything about our trip back from Pinon?"

"Mmh...wanted to leave...ignored the ache..." Athos tried to put his shattered memories together. "Dropped off my horse eventually...d'Artagnan was there...he brought me back, didn't he?"

"Right," Aramis confirmed. "He's the one who foresaw your downfall, catching you just in time. When we had returned, the first night he managed to take the second shift, watching over you when your heart," stopping midsentence, he mentally hit himself. It was probably a bad idea to tell Athos that he'd been dead, even if no longer than a couple of seconds.

But even in his current weak condition, Athos caught his lapse. "When my heart what, Aramis?" he urged. "What was it?"

*14AAA41*

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"When your heart stopped beating," a tired voice fell in, followed by some indifferent noise and the sound of bare feet padding through the room.

"D'Artagnan," the medic scolded, sounding both annoyed and concerned.

Athos, shocked by the unexpected statement, didn't move nor dare look in his brothers' direction. Lying still, eyes closed, he briefly wondered if he would have been better left at death's door. With all that he had done in his life, and for all the pain he was currently feeling, despite the pain medications, he felt like he should have been left for dead rather than being brought back.

"No," a firm, familiar voice stated, seemingly able to read his mind, "I'd never let you go that easy. I could not. So I didn't think, I just acted and bashed on your chest..."

Suddenly the voice cracked and Athos found himself being urged to look at the face belonging to it. The regret and guilt he spotted made his personal guilt even heavier. He felt somehow disappointed and upset that he hadn't been left in peace, that he'd been forced back into this life full of burden. But on the other hand...

"I also broke your ribs," d'Artagnan whispered, still looking into his eyes. "I'm sorry I caused you more pain."

The swordsman couldn't help but turn his head away, fleeing the pleading eyes of his little brother.

"He brought you back," Aramis intervened, squeezing the Gascon's shoulder. "If it hadn't been for his angry punching, we most likely wouldn't be talking right now."

On the other hand Athos felt relieved, nearly lucky, for having brothers caring for him that much. It would have been easier to simply slip away, escaping the memories that were still haunting him, and leaving behind the confusion of feelings Anne's presence was eliciting.

 _But it wouldn't have been my way_ , Athos realized. _I'd never forgive myself for abandoning my brothers or for causing them pain. And if I'd died, I would have done both...Maybe that's why I had those strange dreams...if they've been dreams at all... or has it been a taste of my personal hell? Then I have to be glad and thankful that I was dragged back...no... that I was guided back...guided by my little brother..._

"Athos?"

Aramis' concerned voice jolted Athos out of his thoughts. Opening his eyes again, the swordsman turned his head to his left side. "Hmm?"

"D'Artagnan saved your life...again."

Searching for his little brother, the former comte looked around the room and found him sitting at the table, elbows resting on the wood and head buried in his hands. His whole appearance cried out in remorse. _Why didn't I notice him leaving my side?_

"One could think you're annoyed about that." A moment of silence followed Aramis' statement. "Holy Mary...you are." Breathing deeply, the medic shook his head. "I thought we'd been over all that," he paused and looked at his brother. "I thought you'd left your feelings of unworthiness behind you. That you were no longer welcoming death."

Hearing that, d'Artagnan flinched at the table, which didn't go unnoticed by his brothers.

"I was annoyed," Athos confessed, facing his friend's gloomy eyes, "for about half a second. But then," he stopped and allocated his gaze to the table again. "D'Artagnan," he called out in a low voice.

The young man at the table slowly lifted his head, looking into his eyes.

"Would you please .. come back over here?" Athos tapped at the mattress beside him. When the Gascon didn't rise he sighed. "D'Artagnan, please."

The Gascon got up and crossed the short distance, seating himself at the edge of the bed. With relief, Athos gently took one of his youngest brother's hands, desiring to bring him the same alleviation he felt, and hoping to extinguish every bit of compunction the young man might have. He should never have allowed d'Artagnan to doubt the rightness of saving his life.

Sharing a quick glance with Aramis, he received an understanding nod.

"I'll give you two a minute in private," stated Aramis as he rose and quickly left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Smiling briefly, Athos tightened his grip on d'Artagnan's hand and aroused his attention. "D'Artagnan, look at me."

Once they'd established eye contact again, he continued. "I'm surely not angry with you. ... Quite the contrary, I'm grateful... grateful for you storming into my life." Forced to pause to regain some strength, he watched the boy intensely. "Apparently, whenever my demons seem to win... win the fight concerning my existence... you are there to save me."

Pausing again, and taking careful breaths, he sensed that d'Artagnan seemed not yet convinced, so he went on. "You saved my life, little brother... More than once... Thank you for not giving up on me."

Hearing the words 'little brother' the Gascon's head came up, a shy smile appearing on his face. "But I caused you further pain and I've been selfish," he protested, only to be interrupted by his mentor.

"No, stop right there... Don't adopt... my self-destructive behaviour... I am, and will always be .. deeply obliged for what you did ...so stop feeling guilty... Please..." He had to speak even more slowly and take more breaks, for what little strength he had was leaving him rapidly, but he felt the urge to make himself clear. "You did .. absolutely right and .. and I'd appreciate .. if you'd repeat it ... whenever necessary... Not that I'd be .. looking forward to that," he added after a little break.

D'Artagnan's smile broadened and looked much more like his usual one.

Quirking his lips into a smile, Athos allowed his eyelids to close, succumbing to the exhaustion. All that talking had drained him and together with the efforts of the pain draught Aramis had made him drink earlier, he now felt the urgent need to sleep, knowing well that he would be watched carefully. His brothers had not abandoned him despite his inglorious behaviour, and his newest, youngest brother still was at his side. Something he shouldn't be surprised of and yet... Maybe he should remember himself more often that his brothers loved him in spite of his flaws.

Despite everything they had learned about him, about his past, they stayed with him and were still supporting him. He had always wondered about the fact that Aramis and Porthos never had asked him about his past. They had accepted him despite his disastrous drinking habits, had covered for him, when he had been too drunk to show up for muster. And they never had been disappointed because he had told d'Artagnan of his wife and them not. None of them had reacted badly when he finally had told them about Milady, instead they had stood at his side, never questioning his reactions or the way he had treated her. And they had followed him, had searched for him, when his past had engulfed him once more. They even had made him fight for his people, and that way had helped him to make at least some amends for his catastrophic decisions five years ago.

And just as Aramis and Porthos had, also the Gascon had stayed, had kept him safe, twice. He was even still supporting him now, though he must be beyond exhausted. The boy had saved his life -once again- and guided him back. He'd nearly dare say that he had felt his presence in his mind during his unconsciousness - somehow. Even if that was impossible and he must have been imagining it. But it had felt like it had been real.

Somehow deep insight him he had also known that Aramis and Porthos had been with him, because they always were. But this time he had been too far gone to follow them out, he would have been content to simply let go. Maybe also because he didn't want to be a burden any longer.

With a sigh Athos squeezed his little brother's hand, feeling him squeeze back, and then allowed the lingering sleep to take him.

*14AAA41*

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"Maybe we should just let them rest a bit, before making Athos more comfortable?" Porthos whispered to Aramis, the two of them having spied through the semi-open window.

The medic didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied the relaxed expression on Athos' face, suspecting that the older man had fallen asleep again. He smiled, then he watched d'Artagnan exchange Athos' soaked blanket with a new one and tuck him in carefully before taking to his bed on the floor.

Turning silently, Aramis finally answered Porthos' question. "You are absolutely right my friend. So, I suggest we go and have breakfast, because in there, we're not needed right now."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** _Thank you to Debbie, Sarah, A reader and Another Guest; your reviews are deeply appreciated! Also my thanks to everyone following and favoriting this, your support means a lot!_

 _I hope you all enjoy the following chap, it's one of my favorites... ;)_

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 **Chapter Thirteen**

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While their brothers were sleeping, Aramis and Porthos settled at their usual table after fetching some pieces of bread and cheese from the kitchen. Serge had been asking them about Athos, and the two of them had been sharing the good news joyfully. The cook promised to prepare some light food for the convalescent and hold back some bread for d'Artagnan. Eating in peaceful silence, both of them watched their fellow musketeers wandering around the garrison, following their duty.

When Porthos spotted Treville mucking out the stables yet again, he nudged his brother with his elbow, nodding in their Captain's direction.

"Captain," Aramis called out at once. "Time to take a break isn't it? You should try the bread; Serge has tried out something new."

Putting away the dungfork, the ex-Captain wiped off the sweat on his forehead with his shirtsleeve before walking over to the water trough. After washing his hands and splashing some of the water on his face, he dried his hands on his shirt and walked over to the table. "I'm no longer your **Captain** ," he emphasized. "Why can't you remember that fact?"

"Maybe because it simply feels absolutely wrong," Aramis told him, pushing some of the bread in front of his commanding officer.

Sighing, Treville took the offered piece and started to munch thoughtfully. "How's Athos doing?" he asked after a short while.

"Much better," Porthos told him, grinning broadly. "He's been talking quite a lot actually."

A bit confused, the Captain studied his and Aramis' faces.

"There's been some things to clarify between him and d'Artagnan," the medic explained. "But he's doing well. Although he's still very weak, and getting exhausted quickly, he's definitely on the mend. Thank god."

"Hmm, that's great news. Has he eaten yet?"

"No, he simply was too tired, I think. The blood loss and the fever robbed him of most of his strength. But I'm confident that he'll try soon. You know him, he won't like staying in bed much longer and he'll do everything to get out of that room, after two more days at the latest."

*14AAA41*

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Some hours later, as the sun reached the highest point of its track, d'Artagnan finally woke from his exhaustion induced sleep. After his talk with Athos, when the older man had fallen asleep again, he had returned to his improvised bed and had quickly succumbed to 'Morpheus'' arms again. Now that he had rested over more than fifteen hours, he felt much better, and the low rumbling of his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten in far too long.

Still a bit tired, he slowly rose from the ground, swaying slightly from dizziness as his body adjusted to standing after a long period of rest. After a deep breath and a brief shake of his head, he regained his equilibrium and walked the few feet over to the table where he poured himself half a cup of the abandoned wine from the evening before. After mixing it with some of the water he emptied it in one gulp.

"I'd also like some of that," a tired voice stated, startling him.

A grin formed on the Gascon's face, and he turned his attention to the sickbed from where Athos was watching him, a yearning look in his eyes. "I doubt that Aramis would approve it. You better..."

"He needn't know," the ill man interrupted him. "And you needn't tell him."

With a sigh, the younger relented and mixed another drink, secretly adding more water than wine. Bridging the short distance in a few easy strides, he sat down at his mentor's side, hesitantly placing the cup into the outstretched hand.

"Thank you." Hand slightly shaking, Athos lifted the cup to his lips, struggling to not spill some of the desirable liquid.

"Let me help you." D'Artagnan covered his unsteady hand, stabilizing it, whilst supporting his head at the same time.

Although feeling slightly embarrassed again, Athos stopped protesting and thankfully accepted the offered help. Sipping slowly, he enjoyed the taste, although the wine was diluted far too much for his liking. Anyhow, drinking it was a highly welcomed variety to the liquids Aramis would surely coerce him to swallow over the next few days.

When the cup was emptied, he allowed his head to drop back on the pillow, contently taking a deep breath just to wince as it intensified the pain in his chest. Gritting his teeth, he slowly exhaled before another try, this time more carefully. He felt the first signs of a cough lingering in his throat and he did his best to suppress it, fully aware of the pain it would elicit.

"You shouldn't do that," his younger brother scolded him. "You remember what Aramis sermonizes every time one of us suffers from broken ribs."

"Mmh-hm...keeping the lungs clear is most important, I know," he grunted. "Let's just forget about this detail for now, for I'm sure the scheme Aramis and Porthos have planned will grant me more than enough pain for today."

"What scheme?" d'Artagnan asked confused.

"Oh, yes... you've been sleeping whilst we were talking about that. The two suggested making me more comfortable," Athos answered, letting the last four words sound rather ironic.

"Might be sensible," the Gascon agreed. "You've sweat so heavily the last night and this morning that there's no part of your bed that isn't soaked."

"Looks like that's our cue," an amused voice from the door chimed in as Aramis and Porthos entered the room, carrying towels, sheets, blankets and buckets of steaming water.

Porthos dropped the sheets and blankets on the table d'Artagnan quickly had cleaned, and then turned on his heels, only to return seconds later shoving a new mattress into the now overstuffed room. Meanwhile, Aramis put the water buckets beside one of the chairs and laid down the towels he had had draped over his shoulders.

"What's all this for?" the swordsman asked, visibly confused, his expression matching the stunned one of his youngest brother.

"We thought it better to change everything, because even the mattress must be soaked," the medic commented.

"To be honest, it was the Captain's proposal," Porthos elucidated.

"But how are we going to do that?" d'Artagnan enquired.

"I'll have to get up," Athos guessed, sounding highly pleased.

"Sure that's a good idea?" The Gascon looked directly at Aramis. "Usually you confine us to bed for at least a week, if we're as severely injured as he is."

"Usually I do that. But look at him," Aramis nodded in Athos' direction. "He might be weakened by the blood loss, but he's doing much better than any man I've tended to before. He shouldn't be able to stay awake as long as he does or talk so coherently, and certainly not be capable of drinking that much without getting sick. Thanks to Elinja he isn't as dehydrated as a man usually is after a week with fever. And, strictly speaking, he was bedridden for a more than a week. He's just been lucky that he's been unconscious most of the time."

Re-directing his glance from the medic to his bedridden brother, d'Artagnan slowly nodded. "I see... And how will we deal with the task?"

"You and I will help Athos over to the chair. You'll support him while I wash him. In the meantime Porthos will make the bed. After changing his clothes and bandages we'll help him back, for he will then surely need to rest."

"Enough talking," their stressed leader commanded from the bed. "Let's get started."

*14AAA41*

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As expected, things didn't go easy.

Just sitting up had been a challenge with Athos feeling extremely lightheaded from the change in elevation. The pain, every movement caused him, had forced him to grit his teeth so hard, he'd been afraid of breaking them. Even if Aramis' pain draught had alleviated a part of it, it was still nearly unbearable.

His muscles were still overused by the seizure he'd endured, and stiffened by the enforced inactivity the days before. Making use of them had nearly been worse than the pain emanating from his ribs and flank.

Rising from the bedside almost had made the swordsman collapse, with only the firm grip of his brothers keeping him upright. But once again, it had only lasted a moment till he had forced his body to adapt to the situation.

When he'd been able to start walking, it had ended up in a clumsy stumbling as his brothers guided him to the table. He had heard d'Artagnan arguing with Aramis about the wisdom of their decision the entire time, but had let the words wash over him, concentrating instead, on the simple task of staying conscious and not screaming.

Now that the swordsman was seated in a chair, eyes closed and once more soaked with sweat and panting heavily, he leaned back and registered someone standing behind him. He felt warm hands resting on his shoulders, protecting him from tilting sideways, and wondered who they belonged to.

"You needn't hold your head upright, Athos. It's alright, just relax," his little brother told him, with that simultaneously answering his former, unsaid question.

With a small smile, the convalescent decided to accept the offer and let his head drop backwards, leaning against d'Artagnan's upper body. Sensing the steady, slow movement of his brother's stomach, he automatically adjusted his breathing and slowly relaxed, grateful that he didn't end up in a coughing fit. The Gascon's touch felt so very familiar and suddenly he knew for certain, that his brothers would take good care of him. Just as they always had.

"I need to remove the bandages, Athos, before washing the sweat away. Try to keep breathing steadily, not too shallow but also not too deep. It will hurt when the tension is released," Aramis instructed him.

"Just breathe with me," the Gascon suggested.

"Mmh..."

Aramis and d'Artagnan exchanged slightly concerned glances before continuing. Although Athos was acclimating himself quite well, he was clearly beginning to falter, the signs were visible. They had to hurry, so Aramis stopped talking and simply went to work.

Carefully unwinding the soaked bandages, the medic minded every little sign of pain shown by his brother. But the swordsman barely flinched, hissing only when the bandage was finally removed.

"Are you alright?" d'Artagnan asked, earning a faint humming from the man he was supporting. The Gascon looked down to Aramis, who was kneeling before their friend, and smiled. Athos was showing absolute trust and he almost could sense how he was slowly relaxing again. No, not almost. He could outright feel it.

"This might feel cool now," the medic warned as he started to bathe Athos.

*14AAA41*

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The cool, wet rag on his still heated skin felt wonderful. The strokes were performed with great gentleness, but strong enough to rub the stickiness from his body. The longer he was washed like that, the more he relaxed, slumping further into his brother's embrace. He felt his strained muscles slacken, the ache decreasing from nearly unbearable to annoying, and also his breathing involuntarily deepened.

 _I should feel embarrassed about this... but I don't... It's just... great... I'd never have thought that being washed would be this relaxing..._

*14AAA41*

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Sensing the degree of relaxation Athos had reached, Aramis continued for a few more minutes before switching to the legs. The swordsman winced, but showed no other sign of resistance, and had soon reached the same relaxed state again.

"I'm sorry, brother, but we must change positions now," the medic said once he was finished with bathing every part he could reach.

Slowly opening his eyes, Athos focused on him before giving a short nod.

"D'Artagnan, come around so that Athos can lean forward against you. Then I will wash his back and examine the wound."

Steadying the recovering man, the medic waited for d'Artagnan to move around to the front.

When his younger brother once again was supporting their friend, he began washing Athos' back, making him flinch at first. Near the still cruel looking wound he was particularly careful, gently stroking along the long scar gracing Athos' side and its counterpart on his back, trying not to irritate the still prominent stitches. Despite his efforts, he heard Athos hiss through his teeth, holding his breath briefly.

"Sorry," Aramis mumbled, rubbing gentle curves along his brother's sore back until he relaxed again.

"Mind if I wash the mop on your head you call hair?" he teased a short time later, waiting some time for Athos to answer. When the swordsman didn't, the medic lifted his head, looking questioningly into d'Artagnan's face, only to see him grin. "What?"

"He nodded," the boy told him, pointing at Athos' head now buried at his stomach. The older man had quit trying to keep his head up soon after Aramis had started to wash his back.

"Well... then, I guess I'll get started," the medic announced. "Porthos, would you assist me?"

*14AAA41*

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The trio soon completed their special care, Athos' wet hair still dripping lazily onto the floor. After bandaging the wounded man's upper body again, Aramis took the fresh braies Porthos had fetched in the morning.

"Time to get back to bed again," he said, signalling Porthos and d'Artagnan to help Athos up. "Maybe you'd like to visit the chamber pot first?"

"I'd prefer much more privacy, but..." with a sigh, Athos nodded, fumbling with the laces of his smalls.

"Need a hand?" the medic asked, keeping his voice neutral. He knew how embarrassing the need for help in this situation was, especially for an extremely private man like Athos. But nearly all of them had already experienced this level of care, so none would have to be ashamed about it.

"Please..." Athos replied, his hands falling at his sides.

Making short shrift, Aramis loosened the lacing, letting the linen drop to the ground. "Step out," he ordered, before pushing the wet clothes away.

When Athos was finished with taking care of his needs, the medic put the chamber pot back into the corner and, with the support of his other brothers, dressed Athos with the fresh braies. Then they guided him back to the now clean and dry bed and helped him lay down again.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, their leader's eyes fell close, his breathing once again unsteady and shallow, leading into a weak cough and leaving him breathless, face screwed up in pain.

While Aramis pulled up the blankets, d'Artagnan took his place at the bedside, his hand resting on Athos' chest, trying to comfort him.

"Sh, ssh... Athos, just breathe, slowly, evenly, I'm with you. Try to rest now, when you wake up again, there will be something to eat for you." The young man's own stomach grumbled at these words, making Aramis grin and Porthos leave the room to fetch him something to eat.

D'Artagnan stayed where he was, guiding Athos into breathing more slowly, and waited till he finally fell asleep. Then he let out a relieved sigh and moved to the table, ignoring the noises of his belly and pouring himself a cup of wine.

"I suggest you eat something first," Aramis scolded, taking the cup away and earning himself a grumpy stare from his younger brother. "And just as if ordered," he tilted his head in the direction of the opening door, "there it is."

*14AAA41*

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The sun had just started to set when Treville knocked on the door of Athos' room, letting himself in without waiting for an invitation. As expected, he found the quartet gathered in the room, three of the men turning their heads and facing him, the fourth seemingly deep asleep. "Aramis, Porthos, d'Artagnan," he greeted the trio, before he made his way over to the bed.

"Captain," was the unison answer, which made him huff and smile simultaneously.

Shaking his head concerning the stubbornness of his men still calling him 'Captain', Treville took a seat on the edge of the sickbed. The last time he had visited Athos, the wounded man had still been unconscious and fighting the remnants of the fever. He had seemed to be doing much better than whenever he had visited him before, but his condition had still been worrying him. He hadn't dare believe that the swordsman really was out of the woods.

But what he saw now was actually surprising. Athos' skin had regained most of its usual colour, the flush of feverish red had disappeared and the unnatural sharpness of his facial features was gone. He didn't even look really sick, just a little bit exhausted, as if he had had a hard day. If Treville hadn't seen him fight for his life the days before, he'd never believe that his best swordsman had been at death's door, one foot already beyond the threshold.

"It's amazing, isn't it?"

Aramis' voice startled Treville and he flinched, reluctantly turning his gaze from Athos to the Spaniard.

"I've never seen someone recover this fast before", the medic continued. "Of course, Athos is becoming exhausted quite quickly and he's sleeping a lot, but apart from that..." his voice trailed off as he also looked at his wounded friend.

"So... it's good that you ignored my protest and decided to trust Mistress bint Amin," the former Captain stated.

Understanding the silent apology, Aramis simply smiled. "She's an extraordinary woman," he said. "And her medical skills are impressive. She's the best physician I've ever met. I wish she could stay in Paris. There's a lot to learn."

"She really is someone special. Though..." this time Treville's voice faded, remembering his earlier talk with the Persian woman and again thinking about her astonishing mental skills. No, she had explained to him how she had been able to learn that much about him and his musketeers. _It was observational skills, not anything special_ , he reminded himself harshly.

"Though what?" Aramis asked.

"Nothing," the Captain replied, deciding to let the matter drop.

"Though it seems to come very naturally for her to make people trust her," Porthos continued in his stead. "I can't yet understand how quickly she convinced you," he nudged Aramis with his elbow, "to let her help. I know how much you tend to trust women on instinct, Aramis, that's a part of who you are. But you're also extremely wary when it comes to unknown physicians, you'd try to treat us on your own rather than trusting an unfamiliar doctor. At least not as quickly and absolutely as you trusted Elinja." When this statement earned him an annoyed look from the Spaniard, he shrugged. "What? Is one of you goin' to tell me that it wasn't surprising?"

Whilst d'Artagnan shook his head and kept silent, Aramis furled his brows. "Now that you're mentioning it," the medic began, his voice fading briefly. "I did trust her physician skills rather quickly, didn't I?"

"She knows more than one would think; she's very… maybe even too observant," the Captain added out of the blue, making the others look confused, waiting for further explanation. But when Treville didn't continue, Porthos took over again.

"Did any of you notice," he asked rather rhetorically, "that she's been touching us from time to time? I mean, regarding Aramis, I'm used to women touching him, but Elinja? She's a stranger, she didn't know anyone of us and yet she kept touching us all rather intimately," he stopped when he saw the upset look on d'Artagnan's face.

"But she saved Athos," the Gascon protested, sensing the feeling of unease around him, and the growing suspicion regarding the Persian.

"Yes, she has," Porthos admitted. "But there's more about her, something I don't understand. Something abnormal. A secret."

"But does that matter?" the Gascon asked, looking from one man to the other. "Each one of us has secrets, some are dark, some embarrassing, some funny... there are even dangerous ones. But do we care?" He shook his head before answering his own question. "No, we don't. We trust each other. And so do I when it comes to Elinja. She saved Athos' life," he remembered his friends once more, "more than once. For that we owe her something. And I think a little confidence is a good thing to begin with."

Astonished silence followed the young man's words. Then Aramis smiled again. "It seems that some of our wisdom finally has rubbed off on you."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** _Thanks to Debbie, A reader, AnotherGuest and Sarah for your reviews! I always love reading them! And thanks to all those reading, following and favoriting this, I appreciate your silent support as well!_

 _I feel the need to thank my great beta again: Thanks to you, **Space Cowboy,** for making this readable!_

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 **Chapter Fourteen**

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D'Artagnan was on his way back from the common bathroom, having left Athos' room for the first time for longer than half an hour since his brother had been wounded. After bathing the swordsman, eating what Porthos had brought and cleaning the room, Aramis had told him plainly that he would also benefit from a bath and changing his clothes. Lifting his arm and sniffing, d'Artagnan had to agree, the odour he was emitting somehow reminding him of a pigsty.

It had taken awhile to prepare the bath, but he had gratefully accepted the offered help from one of their fellow musketeers so as not to prolong his time away from Athos. The water had been quite hot at first, but had made him relax almost immediately, allowing him to unwind his mind. It had been then, that he had realized how much his back and almost every muscle had been aching.

Over the last week he had been existing in a condition of permanent stress, physically, but even more so, mentally, not even relaxing during his enforced periods of rest. He had been completely ignoring the needs of his body, functioning rather than living, and fully concentrating on Athos' welfare. Therefore, he had been incapable of thinking about anything else.

So he allowed himself the luxury of staying in the warm water now that he was here, despite being interrupted by a musketeer adding more hot water to his bath. But to be honest, he had barely noticed him. He had been too deep in his thoughts concerning the last few days. The odd fact that he suddenly seemed to know what Athos needed the very second his brother did; even if he wasn't at Athos' side, or if he couldn't see him, and as well when he was sleeping, plagued his mind. It really was all so strange.

Yes, there had been moments like this before, like the night when he had saved Athos from being burned alive or just before the actual events when his mentor had disappeared, but it hadn't been as clear as this time. It had started as a sense of foreboding, but now, at least sometimes, he outright knew. As if something, or someone, had intensified their bond, had amplified his ability of perception.

So, could Porthos have possibly been right? Was there something about Elinja neither of them could understand? If he thought about it, his perception, his ability to know, had increased after the horrible night when Athos nearly died.

 _The morning, when Elinja came to visit Athos._.. She had touched him, he remembered now after Porthos had mentioned it, and he had felt dizzy afterwards. _Could she possibly have done something?_ No, such things were impossible, that would be something supernatural.

His thoughts went in circles, he couldn't reach a conclusion, so he decided to stop thinking about it and follow his own advice. Elinja hadn't done any harm, so he would simply continue to trust her.

After the bath, he'd sat in front of the stables for a while, listening to the horse's familiar noises and simply enjoying the warmth and brightness of the sun. He had pushed his strange thoughts to the back of his mind, he would wonder another time about them, and instead, allowed himself to simply think about nothing. When he finally decided to join his brothers again, his break had lasted almost three hours and the time to himself had done him more than well.

Feeling at ease again, he walked across the garrison, heading for Athos' room to reunite with his brothers.

*14AAA41*

.

"D'Artagnan..." a female voice called out, startling the Gascon.

Looking over to the garrison gates, d'Artagnan saw a familiar, small figure waiting. Changing course he approached the visitor. "Mistress bint Amin," he greeted her. "May I help you?"

"I'm leaving Paris tomorrow morning," the Persian commenced. "And I wondered if I might have a look after your friend? Maybe say a short good-bye? Treville told me that he's doing better and..."

"Of course," he keenly interrupted her, taking her hand and pulling her with him. "Athos would surely appreciate meeting you, he would have been disappointed if you'd left without giving him the opportunity to say his thanks... Even if till now he doesn't know the whole story," he added in a low voice.

"But only if I really do not disturb him," she objected, stopping half way across the yard.

"You won't. But maybe it's a good idea that I tell him first," he said, guiding her to the archway and asking her to wait a moment.

*14AAA41*

.

Entering the sickroom, d'Artagnan wasn't surprised to see Athos awake again, sitting upright in his bed, slowly consuming the thick broth Serge had prepared. It was amazing how much better he looked now, his face having lost the paleness, except for his usual skin colour of course, his eyes gleaming with life again and no longer misted by the fever. His hands still were shaking slightly, but he managed to hold the bowl by himself, sipping carefully the steaming liquid.

"You're feeling better," the convalescent greeted him, somewhat smirking at his baffled expression.

"So you can read **my** mind now?" the Gascon replied, grinning sheepishly.

With an expressive shrug, the swordsman returned back to his meal, still smiling.

Aramis and Porthos, who were seated at the table, exchanged a concerned glance. Some day they had to talk about the extraordinary bond that their youngest and oldest friend had formed, preferably before anyone else noticed. But that day wasn't today; Athos had just awakened and perhaps hadn't even noticed it yet.

Considering how to tell his brother about the woman outside, and her wish, d'Artagnan decided to get straight to the point. "There's a visitor outside, someone who really wants to see you."

"Who would come to see me?" was the noncommittal answer.

"Someone who cares..."

"Who else in the world would care about me?" Athos asked in his usual stoic voice.

"Athos...," Aramis mildly scolded, still annoyed when it came to his brother's lack of socialisation.

"There are plenty of people who care about you, Athos," sighed Porthos.

The former comte merely lifted a brow, silently communicating his disbelief.

"There are our comrades and Constance and ..." Porthos stopped, thinking.

"And all your former tenants back in Pinon, who surely care about your well-being," Aramis continued.

"But they wouldn't come and visit me," Athos countered.

"Constance would," d'Artagnan protested.

Athos gave his little brother a look of excuse and nodded approvingly, before he returned to his broth, ending the odd conversation successfully.

When the following silence became awkward, d'Artagnan started again, looking slightly annoyed. "It would be extremely rude to let your visitor wait any longer. Or to actually tell her to leave without giving her the chance to see you, at least curtly,"

"Her?" the medic asked. "Might it be Elinja, who we're speaking of?"

"Who's Elinja?" the swordsman asked, becoming curious.

"She's... well... how to say it...," Aramis thought aloud.

"She's your physician," Porthos cut it short.

Seeing the confused look on Athos' face, the medic decided to give him a short version of what had happened after he had passed out on their way back from Pinon. "When we reached Paris, after you were wounded, we desperately needed a physician, for your injury was far beyond my skills. Treville had called for Dr. Lemay, but he was indisposed. Blessedly, there was this friend of his, a Persian medic, Elinja bint Amin, who decided to follow the call, wishing to help. The Captain told her to leave, not believing she could offer any skills, but she waited anyway until we arrived at the garrison. She followed us when we carried you to the infirmary, ignoring the ire of the Captain and persisted in telling me about your condition, even after only observing you for no more than a tiny moment." Aramis paused to take a breath before continuing.

"She's a great physician," he began again. "She stopped the bleeding and tended to your injury in ways that I've never seen before. She prevented your wound from infection and, when things got worse, when your kidney got infected and your body was suffering from a hellish fever, she had the idea with the stomach tube to prevent your body from dehydration. She saved your life, Athos, more than once."

After his summary it became so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan waited anxiously for Athos' reaction. The latter briefly closed his eyes, taking a slightly deeper breath.

"Then you better invite her in, because I'd never be that impolite to ignore someone who saved my life."

*14AAA41*

.

It took d'Artagnan a mere moment to guide Elinja into the room. She followed him with hesitation, but looked relieved when she spotted Aramis and Porthos.

Rising, the two men greeted her with great politeness and joy, offering their thanks once more. Then Aramis turned, prompting her to follow him and offered her a chair.

"Elinja, may I introduce you to Athos of the King's Musketeers? Athos, this is Mistress Elinja bint Amin, the Persian doctor."

The sudden feeling of recognition in Athos was unexpected and overwhelming. Looking at the small woman in front of him, he wondered if he had possibly met her before? Her presence was very odd; she felt so familiar that he almost became desperate because his brain told him that he had never seen her before. But he remained silent, instead, quirking up his lips into his version of a smile by way of greeting.

Elinja couldn't help but return it as she watched him study her. And although his reaction was sparce, speaking not a single word, she didn't feel offended by his behaviour. She had expected him to be cautious and reserved, for she had heard of his stoicism and also, she was fully aware that he had never seen her before. So he didn't know her, although she knew him. She had learned intimate things about him when she had been watching him after the surgery; things, which would explain his reserve against other people. She now knew that Athos' trust had been badly disappointed once, so it wasn't surprising that he was a rather withdrawn man. But there was something else in his eyes, a sense of recognition perhaps, and suddenly she felt a bit scared.

 _Does he remember something?_ she asked herself silently. _Might he be perceptive, too? Have I been too careless? But d'Artagnan seemingly hasn't noticed yet, so has he?_ Pushing her concerns to the back of her mind, she concentrated again on the current situation. If necessary, she would use her skills to turn the tide in her favour, but for the moment she would let things play out naturally.

Having been prepared for a rather frosty welcome, because of everything she had heard and learnt about him during her watch, Elinja simply started the conversation in a friendly, inquisitive tone.

"It's nice to see you awake, Athos, even if you're not communicating more than before, which, by the way, is no surprise based on what I've been told about you. But you're looking much better than last time I saw you. And I'm quite impressed that you're already up and about again."

Aramis couldn't stifle the giggle escaping his mouth as he heard Elinja teasing the invalid, garnering him an annoyed look from Athos, a nudge from Porthos and a wide grin from d'Artagnan.

An expression of embarrassment flashed over the swordsman's face, closing his eyes he slowly exhaled. Then he looked up again, clearing his throat and wincing when the movement yet again pulled on his aching ribs. Biting his lip to suppress the imminent coughing attack and holding his breath, he rode out the wave of pain washing over him before he carefully started to breathe again. When he had regained his composure, his gaze flickered across the room seeing the concerned looks of his brothers and, with light surprise, he spotted the same expression on his visitor's face. The woman was now standing right at his side, her hand touching his wrist whilst she was observing him.

"You're in pain," she declared. Looking over to Aramis, she asked, "when did he drink the last potion?"

"I'm fine," Athos protested, freeing his hand from the unfamiliar touch.

Elinja turned her head back, but not before seeing the helpless shrug of Aramis' shoulders. "You're not," she disagreed. "You surely know that it is of highest importance for you to breathe properly and not to suppress the useful reflex of clearing your lungs, don't you? Unless of course you want to foil all your friend's efforts and catch pneumonia, then just keep going..."

Athos just stared at her, baffled.

This time it was d'Artagnan who couldn't stifle his chuckling. Withstanding his brother's irritated look, he simply said, "There you are."

Then Aramis added, "You know, she's right."

Porthos, still grinning due to the woman's ability to render Athos speechless, decided to take pity on him. "Maybe we should just start over again?" he offered, smiling as he took Elinja by the arm and guiding her back to the door where she had entered.

The burly musketeer turned her around as he reintroduced her to the swordsman. "Elinja, meet Athos, our beloved brother. He might be a bit grumpy, but that'll wear off once you two get acquainted."

The giggling of d'Artagnan and Aramis in the background told him that he'd successfully lightened the situation.

Walking nearer to the bed, he shot his morose looking brother a warning glance. "Athos, this is Elinja, your life-saver."

Sighing, the approached allowed a faint smile to form on his face, bethinking of his manners. "Forgive me Madame, I've been impolite. It's nice to meet you, Elinja." His apology earned him a proud look from his friends and a warm smile from his guest.

"I'm very pleased to be able to meet you, Athos," she replied. "When we first met, things looked... well, quite different I'd say."

"I was unconscious." he retorted dryly.

She couldn't help but laugh, but then she became serious again. "To be honest, you were almost dead. So it is even more the pleasure to talk to you."

Once more, Athos was struck by her forwardness. "You don't like mincing words, do you?"

Shaking her head, she smiled widely. "I've learnt that my patients react much better if I simply tell them the truth."

Tilting his head in agreement, the convalescent kept silent for a while. He thought about asking her if they had met before, if the question would be wise or rather suspicious, and then decided against it. His odd feeling of knowing her was something to be resolved between him and her alone, for he didn't wish to bother his brothers.

"You're a guest of Dr. Lemay?" he asked instead, driving the conversation in another direction.

"Yes, my father was his teacher, he lived quite awhile with us so we became something like siblings," she confirmed.

"And you're a doctor, too?"

"Not officially, for women aren't allowed to practice medicine, not even in my home country, which is rather advanced in this regard. But I've learned everything I could from my father, having accompanied him as frequently as possible and, although I'm no physician by title, I'm called after quite often," she explained.

"Aramis is greatly impressed by your skills."

"Did he say that?" she asked, switching her glance to the field medic, who looked slightly embarrassed.

"He did," Athos confirmed. "He called you a great physician."

"Thanks for the compliment, Monsieur," she said, nodding her head in Aramis' direction.

"It's highly deserved and you're welcome," the Spaniard retorted.

"It seems that I must agree. As a result of what I've been told, I think I would have died without your help," Athos went on.

"You surely wouldn't have survived the night, having bled out," she agreed, showing no false modesty.

"Then allow me to say..." Athos stopped and took both of her hands. With a very genuine, but uncharacteristic smile, he looked her straight in the eyes. "Thank you," he simply continued, explaining the depth of his gratefulness through his gaze.

His unfamiliar display of affection surprised two of his three brothers. Aramis and Porthos once again exchanged an astonished glance that became confused when they saw their youngest smile knowingly.

The medic furrowed his brows when he watched the Gascon's expression: the boy looked as if he had expected Athos' reaction. _What does d'Artagnan know_? Aramis wondered. _Why isn't he surprised? This really is strange..._ Whatever was going on here, he would find out; even if Athos and d'Artagnan hadn't yet noticed that they were behaving oddly.

 _So now it's Athos smiling broadly at an unknown woman_ , Porthos thought. _I've never seen him do this before_.

Elinja's simple answer brought them both back to the now.

"You're welcome," she said plainly.

Her acceptance of his thanks made the swordsman tilt his head gratefully. "So, how long are you staying in Paris?" he asked, letting go of Elinja's hands, which caused him to suddenly feel momentarily disconnected. Chalking it up to exhaustion, he shook the feeling away.

"I'm leaving for Barcelona tomorrow. I'm visiting another friend of mine before I return to Ispahan next month."

"Tu haces amigos españoles?" Aramis, his interest picqued, began rapidly speaking with Elinja in Spanish.

For some moments the other three listened to the incomprehensible conversation, Athos even grinning a bit about the Spaniard's enthusiasm.

"Eehm...Aramis?" Porthos then felt the need to interrupt the two, because he simply felt excluded. When he had his brother's attention, he continued. "Mind if you two switch back to French? We'd also like to know what you two are talkin' about."

"Sorry..I was just as amazed," the medic excused. "Did you know that Elinja speaks four languages? Not only French and Spanish, but English and Italian as well."

"Honestly, I speak seven," Elinja corrected him, earning her four astonished looks when each of the musketeers watched her inquisitively. "There is Latin, Greek and my native language, Persian, as well."

"Wha'?" Porthos' mouth fell open, making d'Artagnan smirk at the sight.

Athos had been the first to collect himself. "So, you're highly educated, witty and empathetic. And alongside your medical skills, you are also brave. You came to help a foreign soldier in a country not your home, and not knowing how you'd be treated." He paused and bowed his head. "I owe you my respect, Madame."

"You owe me nothing," she began, then stopping and observing him more precisely. "Except..."

"Except what?"

"Except becoming healthy again. That means, you should take better care of yourself and not try to hide being in pain."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** _Once more, thanks to Sarah, AnotherGuest, A reader and Debbie for your kind reviews, I_ _enjoyed them! And also thanks to all those reading this, I'm glad you still like it._

 _This will be a rather long one, but there was no point to cut it off, so you have to endure all of it at once! Finally, some truths about Elinja! Enjoy!_

 _xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX_

 _._

 _._

 **Chapter Fifteen**

.

"Believe me, I'm fine," Athos rejected the Persian's concern. "I've been much worse before."

"The same argument we have every time he's injured," Aramis chimed in. "One should believe there's no problem in consuming pain draughts, but Athos more often refuses than takes them. He doesn't like it when his mind is muffled."

"Except he does it on purpose when drinking himself to oblivion, trying to escape his memories," Porthos murmured under his breath, which Elinja indeed heard, but decided to ignore.

Instead she addressed the convalescent again. "And why are you breathing so shallowly then? Or bracing your chest?"

Seeing Athos' slightly annoyed expression, she returned to the original issue. "One should think you're in no need of your mind whilst lying in the sickbed and being cared for by your brothers." With a smirk, she winked at Athos, who couldn't help but huff in amusement, immediately followed by a stifled cough that had him grimacing in pain and tenderly bracing himself.

"There we are," Aramis scolded. "Now I **will** make you a pain draught and you **will** drink it." Both times he emphasized the 'will' in a way that left no place for arguments. Darting Athos an irritated look, he rose and left the room.

"I'm comin' with you, I've a few things to do." Porthos followed him close on his heels.

"Where have I left my manners?" d'Artagnan instantly reprimanded himself. "Would you like something to drink, Elinja?"

"A cup of water would be nice."

"I'll get a fresh pitcher and a cup," the Gascon said, by way of an excuse to leave.

A moment later, Athos suddenly found himself alone with his guest.

*14AAA41*

.

Supposing that at least his youngest brother had left deliberately, but more likely all of them, to give him some time in private with his life saviour, and feeling somewhat awkward about that, the swordsman thought about how to continue.

"You're a rather challenging patient when you're not unconscious, aren't you?" Elinja pre-empted him, still smirking.

"I think I'll have to admit that," he said, merely lifting one corner of his mouth.

"Hmm...so what if just once you choose to listen to your friend's advices? Not implicitly for your welfare, but to honour their care and ease their worry?" she asked, touching his arm again.

The contact felt right in this moment, but her honest words made him swallow thickly, yet he nodded after a short break. "I never thought about that," he confessed, "but you're absolutely right. I'll improve."

"Good...your friends were all buggered when your condition was life-threatening. They wore themselves down whilst tending to you, the whole time worrying you might die. Especially the youngest one, d'Artagnan... I heard he collapsed as soon as he was sure you were doing better." Allowing him some time to consider her words, she kept silent for a while. "I'd bet none of them will ever mention that."

"Just as I won't," he agreed. "Nevertheless, thanks for telling me."

Again, the silence lasted a while and again it was Elinja breaking it.

"I'm really surprised that you're looking that much better. When your friends brought you back, you were more dead than alive. I've never felt that unsure about starting surgery, I was dreading you would die halfway in between. But you didn't... You survived the first night and the next. We further prevented you from dying due to gangrene, and you fought the fever caused by the injured kidney..." she shook her head. "Although I acted optimistic during your treatment, I didn't really believe in your viability. But you and your friends proved me wrong. Allhamdullilah," she finished, with a gesture to the sky with her right hand.

Athos had watched her intensely, paling slightly while hearing her words. She still held his wrist, her fingers barely touching his skin and he felt a strange sensation of warmth and relaxation, of belonging and confidence. He suddenly felt the need to talk about his strange experiences whilst fighting with death.

"There's been a time, once..." he slowly started, "or twice, when I felt ready to leave this world. There was the first night, I was just that tired and in so much pain and my memories..." he stopped there, not wanting to revive the feelings of loss, despair and guilt from that night, which drove him to give up. Instead he jumped to the other time he'd felt death lurking about him. "When the fever had me in its clutches, when I was burning, I looked for a way to escape. But I couldn't..." Surprised by his sincerity towards a stranger, he fell silent again.

The silence drew out, but this time Elinja just waited, sensing that there was something more to hear.

"They didn't let me..." he added a bit later. "No, d'Artagnan didn't let me go. And I couldn't abandon him, none of my brothers. If I hadn't had the time to think, I might have gone... but there was time, plenty of it. And I remembered my family, my brothers... It was d'Artagnan who dragged me back, wasn't it?" he added after a short break.

She nodded slowly. "I don't know exactly, but what I've been told of... Yes."

"I heard him... in my dreams, I guess... First I didn't understand, everything was muddled, old memories mixing with newer ones. But then...short time before I regained consciousness... I remembered... why I must not leave." His expression morphed from pensive to confused. "Why did I just tell you that?"

She smiled. "Does it matter? Maybe you felt the need to talk about the time of hovering between life and death?"

He slowly nodded, already deep in his thoughts again. When he continued to speak, it happened unwittingly. "There was someone else... another presence... not the whole time, but sometimes... First I thought it an angel, but then..." he paused and looked inquiringly at her, again having the strange feeling of knowing her.

.

Elinja was stunned by his words. _How can he possibly remember that? Nobody remembers me; that has never happened, it's impossible. What if he really knows? What if he tells someone? I must do something_... Although her mind was in turmoil, she kept her expression blank, simply saying nothing but waiting for what else he might remember.

.

Athos tilted his head, his studies of her face and posture telling him nothing, and wondered briefly if his suspicion might be wrong. No, the longer he was talking to her, and the longer... slightly surprised, he interrupted his own thoughts.

She still was touching him and he was tolerating it, no, even liking it. Now that he concentrated on that sensation, he could feel what she was trying to do. But it also seemed to work the other way round and that suddenly frightened him. He didn't want to know, he mustn't know... It was dangerous. Abruptly, he flinched from her touch, looking at her with wide eyes.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

.

 _Now it has happened_ , she thought. _Someone's found out. I'd never thought it would be a stranger, let alone a soldier, a musketeer. I must go, as far away as I can. Before he tells someone. Before his knowledge gets me killed._ She started to rise, when she suddenly felt his grip around her wrist.

"What are you?" Athos asked, still sounding slightly scared, but also demanding.

When she looked down to her wrist, he let go immediately, as if he had been burned by the touch. Settling again on the chair, she crossed eyes with him, expecting to see fear and disgust. But once more he surprised her. Yes, there was fear in his eyes, but no disgust. Instead he seemed to be honestly curious and all at once she felt, no, she knew that he was to be trusted.

"I'm human, just as you are. But..." she stopped, pondering how much to tell him. Seeing him smile faintly, she continued. "But I can sense emotions, I can feel them just as you feel someone touch you. And I can intensify them when I touch people."

"But there's more, isn't there?" he pressed on. "You also can intensify other's perception, can't you?"

She nodded.

"You did it to d'Artagnan?"

"Yes, although it wasn't difficult. Your young friend's perception regarding you was surprisingly strong before I intensified it," she said.

"And to me?"

"Yes, although..." she stopped and sighed. "To your young friend I did it deliberately, because I supposed it would become useful for your recovery. And it did, hm?"

This time it was his turn to nod.

"But what happened to you... that you could sense my presence during your unconsciousness, well... that wasn't intended. It seems you're rather perceptive as well. So the short contact was enough to bring it to the surface."

"You scared me," he admitted. "I couldn't sort it out, thought it something supernatural. A demon... Your worry was..." forced to break, he swallowed thickly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to harrow you. Believe me, please, when I say it was unintentional. I didn't expect you to notice me."

"So you wouldn't have searched my mind if you knew?" he asked, sounding upset. "Why did you do it in the first place?"

"Most times I do it without conscious decision. When I feel what my patients feel, it helps me to find the cause of their illness and to choose the right treatment."

"I thought you were sent from hell... To take me with you... You knew too much and your concern was crushing me. The only way I saw to escape..." his voice faded.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, fighting with tears when she suddenly realized what almost had happened because of her. "I'm so sorry. I nearly got you killed..."

"You didn't," he retorted. "Otherwise we wouldn't be talking right now." Smirking briefly, he took her hand again, this time fully aware of what might happen.

Wiping her eyes, she couldn't help but imitate his grin. "I've never met someone who reacted that badly to my presence. I thought it impossible. If I had supposed..."

"Now you know better," he interrupted her. "And you'll be even more careful."

"I will, I promise." Relieved that he seemingly wasn't making her accountable and that he most certainly wouldn't reveal her secret, she smiled warmly, wondering if he was going to tell his friends.

"I won't tell them," he pre-emptied her. "Although I can assure you that they would neither condemn you nor betray your trust." He let go of her hand and let his head drop back to the pillows, feeling exhausted from the astonishing news.

"You can tell them," she said after a little while. "They deserve to know and I guess they already have a suspicion. If you trust them, I do," she stated.

"Thank you," he replied. "But not today, it would only prompt them to ask questions I'm not yet ready to answer."

"Whatever you think right," she admitted. "But..." Going to change topic, she paused.

"Hmm?"

"You maybe one day should tell them about your experiences whilst fighting death, it would help you. And your friends should know as well." When she watched him trying to speak again, she continued. "I won't tell them about anything I read in your mind, not even about your death wish. I feel guilty that I induced those dark memories again, that I left you no other choice. If I had known..."

"It's not your fault," he interrupted her. "If I understood right, you said you can only intensify feelings, so that means, you can't induce feelings that haven't been there before, can you?" When she shook her head, he smiled sadly and continued. "Right after those damn events six years ago, I tried to get myself killed," he confessed. "I'd never commit suicide, but I waited for an occasion to let others end my miserable life. I was drinking heavily and picking fights with the odds against me whenever possible. But I always survived... And then I met them... and my life changed...again."

"You found another reason to live..." she said. "So it's also not your fault what happened in this first night. You were severely wounded, strictly speaking, mortally, and additionally you were forced to undergo your darkest time again. There's only so much one can bear. No wonder you chose the only way you saw to escape. I would have done that, too."

When he kept silent, it was her turn to show a sad smile. "I'm sorry, Athos," she repeated her apology. "And I'm really very happy that you survived. You're an extraordinary man, and your inner strength is admirable. You're so full of emotions down under that stoic and composed surface. Maybe, just maybe, you should more often allow yourself to show them."

"I can't..."

"Yes, I know. I actually can see why you're so withdrawn, why you reign in your emotions that strictly. But you're judging yourself way too hard, you surely do not deserve to bear such a guilt." She paused briefly. When he looked at her, frowning, she continued. "I could help you, you know? If you wish, I could assist you getting rid of the guilt. I know there's forgiveness in you, maybe buried deep down under layers of guilt, but it's definitely there. I could show you the way to reach it..." her voice faded when she saw his expression become pained.

*14AAA41*

.

Her offer was tempting, it would make his life much easier. No longer feeling guilty about the events that lead to his brother's death, no more feeling responsible for Anne's deeds... He would have a completely new life, without being haunted by demons of the past. She was offering him the redemption he so long had been looking for.

 _And if she offers me this, she must think I'm worth it. Just as my brothers obviously think I'm worth to be saved, for they saved my life more than once. - D'Artagnan saved me even when he thought me guilty of killing his father. And he saved me again, only weeks later, although he barely knew me. - And Aramis and Porthos? How many times have they rescued me from myself? When I was acting reckless, trying to get myself killed in an irrelevant skirmish? How often did they look after me when I got so drunk that I could not even remember stumbling home? - Or Treville, who made me a musketeer despite my self-destructive behaviour?_

 _If they all think me worthy of being saved, of being loved... They cannot all be wrong, there must be some truth in it. Maybe I've suffered enough by now, maybe I'm allowed to go on, to make some amends... Maybe my life is worth something..._

 _*14AAA41*_

 _._

Studying his face, Elinja could see what Athos was fighting with, and that he was torn. But that lasted only a short while.

"That wouldn't be me anymore," he said, shaking his head. "I appreciate the offer, but it would change every facet of my personality. And despite all you've said... I'm still not sure that I deserve to be fully forgiven for what I've caused, although I maybe deserve to live..."

A sad smile on her face, she nodded. She had known his answer even before she had asked, but she had had to try anyway.

"But at least try some day and speak with your friends," she repeated. "I assure you, it'll help you. Don't try to forget what's happened, it will haunt you in your dreams. And don't take too much time, it only will make matters worse. Besides, your friends are still worried and none of them would ever think less of you. They love you..."

"I perhaps may... someday," he said, merely raising one corner of his mouth when he saw her pleading expression.

Trying to make himself more comfortable Athos shifted slightly against the piled up pillows, his breath hitching when his ribs protested against the movement. Desperately trying to avoid the imminent cough, he started to curl up into himself, but Elinja stopped him.

"Let me help," she said, gently placing her hands at his aching side and supporting his ribs in order to ease the pain. She stayed like that a while, waiting for him to recover, whilst he fought for breath once more.

*14AAA41*

"Sorry, I've been delayed by Serge, he wanted to know how you're doing," d'Artagnan said as he burst into the room, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Athos, eyes shut and face screwed up in pain. He put the pitcher and cup on the table and hurried to his brother's side, looking concerned. "What's happened?"

"He moved the wrong way," the Persian told him, maintaining the gentle, but firm pressure. "Aramis' potion would be useful right now."

Athos was breathing shallow and too fast, for his broken ribs were rasping at each other with every in- and exhale he made. He felt a coughing fit lingering in his throat, threatening to make things even worse. He didn't dare speak, being fully aware that a single word would break his concentration and he would end up in even more pain, enough to drive him unconscious.

"Who mentioned a potion?" As if someone had called him, the medic entered the room, carrying a cup with him.

"Your timing is great," d'Artagnan said, taking the cup and moving to the upper part of the bed.

"What's happened?" Aramis asked Elinja, who was still bracing Athos' chest. "What are you doing?"

"He moved the wrong way, I'm supporting his ribs to take more of the tension off it. When he has to cough, you could support him like this, it'll make it less painful."

Whilst they were talking, the convalescent's breathing slowed down a bit, his in- and exhaling becoming slightly more effective. He felt d'Artagnan waiting beside him and slowly opened his eyes to look at him. His youngest brother smiled and reached out to support his head.

"Here you are," the Gascon said, nudging his lips with the cup.

Athos started to drink, grimacing at the well-known and yet disgusting taste. He'd nearly emptied the cup, when he choked on the last sip. No longer able to suppress the reflex of his sore throat, he started to cough, ending up back in a coughing fit that made him feel like his chest was bursting apart, not to mention the pain every cough induced in his side, although Elinja still was supporting him.

The pain was incredible and he wished himself unconscious again, but he didn't yet pass out. Instead, he lost the ability to breathe, the lack of air making him panic, causing a swoosh sound in his ears and grey dots to start dancing in his vision.

"Athos, breathe!" he heard Aramis commanding, even through the white noise deafening his sense of hearing. Then the pressure against his ribs was intensified, increasing the pain even more before it suddenly decreased.

"Breathe!" the command was repeated, this time two voices in unison, and he obeyed, supported by the familiar touch at his chest that had guided him out of the darkness and which he knew was coming from d'Artagnan.

When the swordsman finally had reached something like a normal breathing rhythm, he opened his eyes again. Looking at three worried faces he forced some sort of a smile on his face. "I'm fine," he croaked.

His standard statement earned Athos three scolding looks and a unison sound of huffing. Remembering his former promise and reconsidering his answer, the ex-comte corrected himself. "Right... I'm still in pain, but it's getting better." Trying a slightly deeper breath, he grimaced again. "I admit breathing's still rather painful."

"Maybe I should re-wrap your ribs again," Aramis decided, simultaneously tugging with one finger at the bandages. "They're too slack and don't provide the necessary support."

Athos rolled his eyes at his brother's words, far too well able to imagine the pain that would cause.

"Wait," Elinja interfered. "I think I can help you with the persistent pain. Aramis, could you take over?"

The medic nodded and they replaced her hands with his, trying to adopt the same pressure level she had provided. Athos flinched at their movements and hissed through his teeth, but this time his breathing didn't hitch. _Maybe I'll gradually get used to it_ , he thought sarcastically.

"I'm sorry," Aramis mumbled, adjusting his hands carefully. "That better?"

"Mmhm..."

Meanwhile, Elinja had rummaged through her basket and now pulled out a little sachet. "There it is," she said, opening it as she gestured at d'Artagnan to hold out his hand. When she shook the sachet carefully, the opium grains dropped one by one into his palm. After counting them to seven, she stopped and re-closed the sachet, putting it onto the table.

"Do you always carry opium around?" the Gascon asked slightly amused, recognising the pain killer.

She grinned. "Well, somehow I felt it could be useful."

"So, you're gut's talking to you as is mine?" he inquired, sounding amused, but his voice held an undertone of suspicion as well. Although he tended to trust her, that didn't mean that he had abandoned his thoughts about her possible skills completely.

Elinja studied d'Artagnan's expression, which was openly friendly and maybe a bit curious, and decided to overlook the suggestive nature of his voice. Instead she laughed, playing it down. "Certainly not as exact as yours, but years of practice and experience have taught me to listen to these instincts. Sometimes there are just those little signs -expressions, movements, words or something else- that your head doesn't really notice, but your instincts put them in line. And then you just know without really knowing why. "

"But I've neither practiced nor have any real experience with medicine, so why...?"

"You know your brother. And you're very much like him, aren't you? Not at first sight, but if you consider it..." she said, successfully diverting the young man's thoughts.

D'Artagnan remembered how Athos had told him about their resemblance that one fatal night, before he won his commission from the king. That night, when he had gone to the Chatelét to face Labarge and had almost been killed, only to be saved by Athos who had followed him. When they had been running through the pouring rain, Athos had told him how much he was like him. The memory brought a smile to his face, but then his original task came to his mind again and he reached out his hand with the grains to Athos. "Can you lick them up? It's a powerful pain killer from the east, better than any of Aramis' concoctions."

Athos didn't seem convinced, but the honest and pleading look of his youngest brother made him obey. Thoroughly licking up every single one of the grains, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. But a cup with water nudging his lips had him drinking and therefore swallowing the icky pieces.

The effect wasn't long in coming and just minutes later the convalescent felt himself getting dizzy and tired. The dizziness forced him to close his eyes, for his surroundings were circling around him and he didn't want to become sick. Instinctively breathing more deeply, he registered at the verge of his mind that the pain level had decreased distinctly.

Laying still till his body got used to the side effects, he listened to the talk beside him for awhile, hearing Aramis interviewing the Persian once more. Finally he opened his eyes again, fighting the tiredness, because he still had to say goodbye to one of his lifesavers. Although much had happened during this short visit, he remembered her talking about her departure tomorrow.

"So I've t'say thank you 'gain," he started, his words slurring due to the effects of the opium. "I can never make it up t'you, everything you did t'help me. But if someday you need any help, then..."

"Then I'll call you," she interrupted him, smiling widely. "Your friends and your Captain said exactly the same thing."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** _As always, thank you to Debbie, Doubtful Guest, Sarah and AnotherGuest for leaving me your reviews! I appreciate them!_

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 **Chapter Sixteen**

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Athos had fallen asleep almost immediately after he'd said good-bye to Elinja, the combined effects of the pain draught, the opium and his exhaustion making it difficult to stay awake.

D'Artagnan hadn't left his place at Athos' side, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand placed on its familiar spot on Athos' chest. Eyes closed, he had concentrated on his mentor and sensed his relaxation, before he looked up again and smiled. "He's sleeping peacefully, finally," the Gascon had said. "I'll stay to make sure he doesn't have nightmares."

Aramis furrowed his brows at the unexpected statement, but didn't comment on it. Instead he offered to escort Elinja back home, something he was actually looking forward to doing. The Persian woman was a pretty interesting companion, her education and her medical knowledge astounded him. Privately, he thought perhaps she might even exceed Dr. Lemay's expertise. If it had been possible, Aramis would have asked her to teach him more, but because she was about to leave, he'd only have a short time to learn everything he could from her.

Whilst they slowly made their way through the still busy Parisian streets, they had talked constantly about anatomy, wound treatment and other useful things. But there were some things the Spaniard had witnessed this day and the one before that were constantly nagging at the back of his mind, but he knew quite well that a public street, busy with Parisian people, wasn't the right place to talk about it. Medicine was one thing, but matters of the mind were something else all together.

*14AAA41*

.

When they finally reached Dr. Lemay's house, Elinja stopped at the threshold to say farewell. "Thank you for bringing me home, Aramis. Although it wasn't necessary. But despite that, your company was entertaining. And I appreciate your concern for my well-being. I..."

Aware of his impoliteness, Aramis interrupted her before she could say good-bye. "May I ask you one last question?" he began, surveying his surroundings to make sure nobody was listening.

She looked at him questioningly, then sighed. "You better come in then. Somehow I believe your question might be a bit extra-ordinary."

Leading the way to the small room she was occupying, she wondered if she could be as honest with him as she had been with Athos. The latter had recognized her from their encounter in his mind, but Aramis most probably had nothing more than a suspicion.

Yes, the marksman was very attentive to his surroundings, as he was to his brothers' condition, but he hadn't noticed her when she had taken influence of his mind, enhancing his confidence in herself. Maybe she should simply do to him what she had done to Treville, to make things easier for him. And for herself, of course...

She indicated to him with a tilt of her head to take seat on the single chair in her room, while she sat down on the edge of her bed. Folding her arms in her lap, she then simply waited for him to start.

Now that the time to ask had come, Aramis felt rather embarrassed. He thought about a way to start the conversation concerning the delicate matter, but his usual charm had fled him completely. How could one ask a woman about... about what? Making people trust her? Making d'Artagnan know things? Causing Athos to show emotions? He had nothing substantial to ask about, no visible signs, just his suspicion and Porthos remark of seeing her touching each of them before their emotions had shifted ever so subtly. Rattled how to start, Aramis took a deep breath, but was unable to find his voice.

*14AAA41*

.

Elinja watched his face intently, she could sense his uncertainty, his doubt, his silent fear. As well as she could sense his sincere curiousness and his concern for his brothers. He too, was to be trusted, just as Athos had told her, and maybe she could ease his mind a bit without using her powers.

"I most certainly don't mean any of you any harm," she began, feeling that Aramis' worry for his brother's well-being was primary in his mind. "On the contrary. Everything that happened, everything that I did, was meant to be helpful. Some of it even happened involuntarily, for I was distracted." She waved him to let her continue when he launched into interrupting her. "I'm neither an angel," she said with a little smile, when she saw him gripping the cross he was wearing, "nor a demon. I'm no supernatural being, just a woman owning a special skill when it comes to emotions."

"But **what** can you do?" he pressed. "What **did** you do? Porthos noticed you touching us, so for what reason? And what if someone else notices?"

Ignoring the first three questions, she answered the last instead. "I'm quite sure my little 'gifts' will diminish over time, although they won't vanish completely. But there will be most likely no danger for you or your friends."

"Are you sure?" the medic asked, unsatisfied with her evasive behaviour and yet partly content, because she gave him the needed confirmation of his friends' safety.

"I'm **certain** , there will be no harm. But perhaps d'Artagnan should be a bit more careful about the emotions he shows on his face. He wears his heart on his sleeve. This is of no concern when in his brother's company, but if others notice it, his ability to 'read' Athos...", she paused briefly. "Did you know that he could do that before I met you?"

Aramis was still confused, because Elinja admittedly had confessed that she had done something, that she possessed some unusual skill. Yet, she refused to speak plain language and instead she was only implying what she had done or what she was capable of. Drawing his own conclusions, the medic nodded slowly. "Yes, at least I supposed something like that. His ability to sense Athos in need of help has always been remarkable."

"Well, now he's able to feel Athos' condition as well as he can feel his own, because of me. When he's near enough at least... So you better tell him to keep that knowledge to himself, when he's not with you. Who knows what kind of trouble it might cause."

"Mmhhm... " Aramis agreed, thinking about what he just had learned and shaken by the idea of a human being capable of reading and even influencing other people's feelings. "So you somehow can manipulate emotions and you..."

He was interrupted by Dr. Lemay's housekeeper, who had chosen this exact moment to return from the market.

When the main door opened and the woman called for Elinja, the Persian rose from her bed and ushered Aramis out of her room into the small foyer, leading him towards the back door.

"You must leave," she urged. "Editha must not see you, she would only ask what you're doing here and she would tell Frederick."

"Frederick?"

"Dr. Lemay," Elinja explained. "I didn't tell him that I went to help your friend. He would only have worried, because I'm not allowed to practise and for I'm a stranger here."

With an amused smile on his face, Aramis allowed himself to be ushered through the foyer and out the door. The small Persian had surprised him once again and he really would have liked to stay longer, to talk longer with Elinja about her power and what she actually did to his brothers, but he was too much a gentleman to put her in a difficult position. At least, he had learned enough to stop worrying for the moment, and maybe one day he would learn more.

The Persian woman led him to the door where she said good-bye. And just before he turned away, she whispered something into his ear. "Athos knows. He'll tell you... someday..."

As the medic looked at her with visible confusion, she simply smiled, before she turned and vanished into the house. The door closed with an audible thud, leaving Aramis on the street with one question answered and a dozen new ones to ask.

*14AAA41*

.

When the marksman returned to the garrison, he found Porthos tending to their horses, which had been standing in the stables much too long now. His large friend was taking them one after the other for a short ride around the quarter before grooming each of them till its coat was shining. Leaving him to his task, Aramis started crossing the yard to look after Athos, only to be called by Treville.

"Aramis, in my office!"

Following the order from his commanding officer, the Spaniard entered the office through the open door, finding the man behind the desk, sorting papers. At his entry the Treville looked up. "How's Athos doing today?"

"Better," Aramis replied. "He's still weak and in more pain than he'd ever admit, but he's definitely out of the woods. His side is still sore and his ribs are bothering him badly especially if he moves too much, but given enough time to heal and watched carefully, he will make a complete recovery."

"Good. That makes this easier." Treville paused a moment. "The king has asked for his best musketeers. He's expecting the Margrave of Brandenburg. Athos obviously is excused and I decided to leave d'Artagnan with him, but you and Porthos are on guard duty tomorrow."

The medic thought briefly about arguing about the order, but then he decided otherwise. Treville had bought them time to care for their brother, to bring him back to life, and the three of them had known this state couldn't last forever. They had to go back on duty some time, trusting that others would help Athos and that their oldest brother would listen to what he was told. Smiling sarcastically to himself, he briefly shook his head. No, Athos would surely **not** do as he was told, so for now it was a good thing that the Captain had arranged to have the Gascon stay with their invalid. "I assume you are to be accompanying us?" he finally said.

"Yes. Rochefort has the Red Guard guarding the palace and the ladies, but the musketeers are the king's household guard, so we'll escort him and his guest."

"Where are we going?" Aramis asked.

"The king's going to show the margrave his preferred hunting grounds," Treville told him.

"Versailles... So we're to be away for several days?"

"Yes," the Captain confirmed, seeing the concern in the Spaniard's eyes. "Will that be a problem?"

"Well, as much as I'd prefer to stay here and make sure that Athos is sensible, I'm rather convinced that our young Gascon will be capable of handling him," the marksman said.

The captain cocked his head. "You seem quite sure of d'Artagnan's skills. What has changed? I expected you to argue with my order so you could stay with Athos. You rarely like leaving a brother in someone else's care."

The medic smiled knowingly. "First of all d'Artagnan isn't **someone**. And I've been teaching him about the basics of healing for quite some time now. Despite that, he has a very good instinct of what Athos will do, if not to say he **knows** it sometimes. And don't be mistaken, for I will surely threaten our stubborn leader with shackling him to the bed, if he doesn't agree to obey."

Huffing, Treville nodded. "I see. That indeed might work." Changing topic he turned earnest again, when he spelled out the details of the coming mission. "There have been some threats concerning his majesty's alliance with the protestant union, so we'll have to keep on constant alert. I need you and Porthos fully concentrated, especially with Rochefort watching us."

"We won't disappoint you," Aramis promised. "What time shall we leave?"

"At first light. Bring your medical supplies, I very well remember the last time the king went hunting."

"As do I. So let's just be optimistic, such things seldom happen twice in a year," the Spaniard agreed, remembering the accident involving a musket and a clumsy courtier that almost killed one of their fellow musketeers.

"Hmm..."

Taking that as his dismissal, the medic left the office to tell his brothers of their orders.

*14AAA41*

.

The rest of the day had been eventless, Athos sleeping most of the time and almost happy to get up for the dinner. Every so often his breathing would turn into a nasty coughing fit and each time one of them would have to assist him and remind him how to breathe again. When Aramis checked him over for the last time before departing on their mission, he found his wounds looking rather well, the one on his back healing nicely, but the one on his flank still bothering him a bit. But Elinja and he had had to gain sufficient access, and therefore had to cut deeply through some important muscles, so the time needed for healing would inevitably be longer.

Despite all that, Athos was a rather easy-care patient this time, making Aramis quite optimistic for the days he and Porthos would be gone. It seemed like their leader finally had decided to be sensible.

Late in the evening, when Athos was asleep again, the medic repeated with their youngest his medical knowledge, telling him how to brew the pain draughts and the special kidney tea, and discussing the use of opium. Everything else needed, such as bandaging the broken ribs or supporting them, the Gascon already knew well enough.

They also talked about what the ill man might be allowed to do, and Aramis conceded to a bit more mobility, meaning that Athos would be allowed to leave the room in at least two days, if he improved further. The convalescent would also be given some more privacy at last, for d'Artagnan had to help with the garrison's daily routines. Whilst most of the musketeers would be gone with the king, Treville was reluctantly only leaving twelve of them, including the Gascon and Athos, to guard the building and yard.

And lastly there was the fact of d'Artagnan's ability, and the warning Elinja had given. Aramis still pondered how much to tell his little brother, but then decided to be honest. Only then the boy would understand the graveness of his situation...

*14AAA41*

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The following morning saw Aramis and Porthos mounted on their horses, as was the main part of the regiment, while d'Artagnan stood aside and watched. A part of him was envying his comrades, feeling the need of seeing something else other than the garrison, but the other part was grateful that he was allowed to stay with a still weak and rather helpless Athos.

When Aramis had informed him about his and Porthos' new duties, he first had been a bit scared. Overtaking the responsibility for his mentor's welfare was a challenging task, especially because he knew how insensible and impatient the older man could be regarding his own health. And somehow he doubted that the swordsman's good manners and the patience he was showing would last much longer.

But over the last few days d'Artagnan's confidence in his connection with Athos, and in his communication skills regarding his older brother, had greatly increased. He now even seemed to be able to manipulate his mentor, at least up to some degree, although he would never take advantage of it. Having these abilities was surely unusual, but it did not really concern him anymore. He'd known, only a short time after he had first met Athos, that the two of them shared a deep bond, so now it had simply become stronger.

 _But that is not all, is it?... If it's right that Elinja has something to do with it, my new skills are something special. Possibly something supernatural? ... And if they are... Have I to be more careful using them? At least that's what Aramis said, though... he only told me about not showing what I can read. But what's about my ability to manipulate Athos, to calm him down? Does she know about that?... However, I must not let see others what I'm capable of, there must not arouse any suspicion..._

Waving a short goodbye to his departing brothers, the Gascon turned and headed for the kitchen. Athos was still asleep, so he decided to fetch him some breakfast for when he awoke.

Real breakfast.

Over the last few days their part-time-medic had tortured the invalid with bland porridge, broth, or soup, and in addition to that, some strange, vile tasting mixtures meant to support his body in compensating the blood loss. Of course, the ill man had barely eaten what he had been given, which didn't surprise him. Whatever Aramis had offered Athos had either tasted bland or vile, and everything else had been liquid. His mentor absolutely needed to rebuild his strength, so d'Artagnan decided it was time for him to eat some real food.

Without asking Aramis for permission- he simply had 'forgotten' to do so, today, the Gascon would allow his healing brother something more substantial like bread and cheese, and maybe some eggs, if he was up to it. That would be the first step to enlightening Athos' mood, for the confinement to his room was surely making the swordsman go mad, just as the lack of privacy did. Athos didn't show it, not really, but d'Artagnan was able to read his brother very well.

 _We're really alike... I can understand all too well how he's feeling. I'd be going through the roof right now, if I wasn't granted at least a little time to myself._

*14AAA41*

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With a start, Athos awoke from his dark dreams. Pushing himself up without thinking, he gasped when his body vigorously protested. Falling back to the mattress, he curled into himself, bracing his ribs as the coughing started. The pain wasn't as bad as yesterday, but still enough to make breathing a difficult task. Although he felt relieved for finally having some sort of privacy, he now desperately wished one of his brothers was at his side.

Just as his wish had been heard, the door opened and d'Artagnan entered the room, seeing him and immediately hurrying to help him, after putting the tray he carried away. With his little brother's assistance the pain quickly diminished and the ex-comte was able to breathe properly again. His dependence was starting to annoy him, but he again reminded himself of his promise to behave and so he accepted the needed help gratefully.

"Are you alright?" the Gascon asked, slowly letting go of the pressure he had applied to his brother's ribs.

"Yes," Athos answered, still slightly out of breath but yet sitting up carefully to avoid aggravating his injuries again. "Thank you."

He noticed d'Artagnan hovering besides him, ready to help if needed, but giving him space to try on his own. When he had managed to sit at the bedside, feet touching the ground, he smiled briefly, pleased that he had at least accomplished something on his own.

"Hungry?"

Sensing the familiar smell of Serge's freshly made bread, Athos nodded. "Starving."

Reaching for his shirt with his left hand, the convalescent hissed as the movement pulled on his side, forcing him to press his arm against it whilst he breathed through the pain flaring in his flank. When the ache decreased, he looked up to see d'Artagnan grabbing the wanted item and offering it in a way for him to easily slide his arm and head through. Briefly glaring at his younger brother- for he hated having to be helped with such simple tasks-, he did as expected, swallowing the snide comment playing on his lips.

The Gascon smiled contently and continued dressing him with his breeches before offering him his arm to lead him over to the table. When the swordsman accepted it, he earned himself a fond smile from his protégé, assuring him that he was doing right.

They enjoyed their meal in fraternal silence, the younger consuming the main part of it and Athos content with nibbling some bread and a small piece of his favourite cheese. The convalescent's stomach still had to get used to regular food again after more than a week of fasting, and when he felt he'd finally had enough, he pushed his plate away.

"Are they gone?" Athos asked.

"Yes. They left an hour ago. The king and the margrave are having breakfast first before they'll head for Versailles. Our brothers are meant to scout the route whilst the regiment is guarding his majesty and his guest. I just wonder if the Captain told the king about your injury or if his majesty notices our absence."

"Does it matter?"

"No..." the Gascon decided. "Not really, given that the Captain tells us, what or if at all, he told the king about your injury before we meet his majesty again. Would be daft to tell him tales that don't match."

Athos puckered one corner of his mouth, offering a small grin. "That's surprisingly prescient of you."

"Well, there surely are some qualities of yours which are useful to adopt," the younger retorted with a wink, before he rose and took the tray to bring it back to the kitchen. "Just keep seated, I'll be back in an instant."

Once more stunned by his brother's appraisal concerning him, the swordsman stayed silent, watching his little brother heading for the kitchen. If d'Artagnan still found some of his qualities and manners worth copying after how he acted in Pinon, he must have done at least some things right.

 _Maybe I was wrong... Maybe I do not deserve being banished to hell... Maybe... No, most certainly it was right not to give in... To follow him out of the dark..._


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** _Thanks to Debbie and AnotherGuest for your reviews! I'm glad you liked my 'tongue-tied' Aramis!_

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 _._

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 **Chapter Seventeen**

 **.**

Returning from the kitchen, d'Artagnan surprisingly found Athos back in bed, eyes closed and breathing calmly. He could have sworn the stubborn man would take the first occasion to ignore Aramis' advice. He had partly expected the swordsman to try walking into the yard, heading for their usual table or at least staying seated at the table and avoiding the bed, but neither of it had been accurate.

Letting the events of the last days pass through his mind, the Gascon slowly started to worry about his mentor's behaviour; being **that** reasonable simply wasn't the way Athos usually behaved. Wondering what might have happened to make him change his mind, if it had possibly something to do with his own, new abilities, he walked closer to the bed. "Athos?" he whispered, not willing to disturb him if had fallen asleep.

"Still awake," was the laconic answer he got. "Don't you have duties to fulfil?"

"Well.. yes," the Gascon stammered. "It's my turn to take care of the remaining horses, but I wanted to make sure..."

"I'm fine, just tired," the convalescent informed him, casting him a quick glance. "I'm going to rest, there's no assistance needed for the next few hours."

Looking over to the opposite corner of the room, the younger discovered the obviously used chamber pot. "I'll dispose of that, you might need it again," he announced, turning around and fetching the sniffy vessel. Looking at the liquid, he noticed the still slightly reddish colour of it, indicating the persistent harm of Athos' kidney. Sighing lowly, he remembered Elinja's and Aramis' talk about that some days ago and tried not to worry too much, for both of them had confirmed those symptoms would last a while longer.

Studying his brother's slightly tensed posture, he considered if the ill man might have overheard the conversation or not. Deciding upon no, he said, "Aramis said the reddish colour is to be expected considering the injury you sustained. It will diminish during the next days, when your kidney has recovered. You just have to drink enough..."

Showing no visible reaction, but relaxing inwardly and grateful for the unsought explanation, the lying man made an indefinable noise. "Mmh..."

D'Artagnan headed for the door, smiling to himself for again sensing what was needed, and was regarded by a quiet "Thanks," sounding from the sickbed.

When the Gascon returned from the latrines, Athos turned his head to watch him putting the chamber pot under the bed.

"Just in case you need it again," d'Artagnan said, pushing a stool nearer to the bed. Grabbing the jug with a special herb tea the medic had made, and a cup, the Gascon put both on the stool, making his mentor scowl. "I know, you'd prefer wine, but Aramis said..."

"I know what he said," the swordsman grumbled, then sighed. "I'll drink his damned tea..."

Somewhat stunned, the younger looked at him intensely, but didn't comment. "I'll bring you something for lunch just after midday. Do you need anything else before I leave?"

"No, I'm fine, just tired. Thank you, d'Artagnan."

"You're welcome." Wondering if his elder brother really would be rational, but prone to believe it, he shook his head about the 'new' Athos and left the room.

*14AAA41*

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"Do you think Athos's done somethin' stupid yet?" Porthos asked.

He and Aramis were sitting in their room at Versailles, Louis' hunting lodge. They had left Paris some days ago, concentrating on their duty and pushing every thought of their healing brother and his young minder to the back of their minds. But whenever they were off duty, they both wondered if Athos really would listen to the Gascon.

"He at least seemed quite prudent before we left, he didn't complain once. I'm not quite sure what has gotten into him, but I want to believe that it will last a bit longer," the medic returned. "If he acts as pig-headed as we know him, he will end up with a pierced lung or permanent kidney damage. I told him so, but I doubt that it is my admonition keeping him in line."

"So what do you think is makin' him sensible?"

Aramis tilted his head sideways. "What do **you** think?" Watching his brother raising his eyebrows, the Spaniard sighed. "We're speaking of Elinja again," he concluded.

"She and Athos had quite a time in private, who knows what she has told him," Porthos told him. "Besides, she's been a worthy adversary for him, hasn't she? At least she rendered him speechless. I haven't seen that happen often."

Aramis huffed. "I remember just once. Ninon, the Comtess de Larroque, made him speechless too. But you might be right, maybe she said something that made him change his mind about being an annoying patient." He took the same line, because he simply didn't want to talk about the things he had learned from Elinja right here. He would prefer to speak about such mysteries at home, safely guarded by the walls of his own room.

"Mmh... but it surely won't last very long," Porthos prophesied doom.

"I hope it will last long enough. We'll be back in two, latest three days," Aramis retorted, silently wishing himself right.

For awhile, the two musketeers stayed silent, each of them thinking about Athos and d'Artagnan.

Aramis' thoughts wandered off to the Gascon's ability of reading Athos, hoping that the young man didn't do something too odd under the eyes of their comrades. He had told d'Artagnan about Elinja's warning and the Gascon had looked sincerely shocked, before his face had taken on a determined expression. D'Artagnan merely had taken a deep breath, then nodded and promised him to be careful. Without question, he had taken Elinja's intentions and consequences of her actions in stride. He had taken the news as it was. The Gascon's simple acceptance had surprised him though, and in that moment, the young man in front of him had seemed to be no longer a boy but a man.

Unfortunately Aramis hadn't had the opportunity to speak with Athos about the Persian woman. What she had confessed to him, was still in his mind and it rocked him. It rocked his faith and everything he believed in. Nevertheless, he longed for the moment when he would learn more about her extra-ordinary skill, although he was also scared. Mostly, knowledge was power, but sometimes it simply was dangerous. The more he thought about the small woman, the more he got worried on her behalf, her power making her vulnerable and posing a risk to her life.

"You brought her home," Porthos said out of the blue. "Did she say anythin' out of the ordinary?

The question jolted Aramis out of his thoughts and he looked again, meeting Porthos' curious gaze.

"I'm still wonderin' about this Persian physician," the large musketeer continued, with a pensive shake of his head. "Yes, she's very skilled, she saved Athos' life and we're in her debt, but yet... There's somethin' about her, something I can't lay my hands on."

"She is..." The marksman paused, unsure if after all it might be the right time to tell Porthos about Elinja's skills. The more he thought about it, the more it felt wrong to keep his knowledge from his eldest friend.

"I can't get her out of my head, because since she's been with us, Athos and the pup are behavin' odd," Porthos explained, decreasing his voice to a whisper to avoid being overheard. "D'Artagnan recently knows things about Athos, nobody can know. Not without askin' him. It seems to me as if the whelp can read Athos' mind sometimes. And Athos... Athos is too compliant, too sensible and simply not Athos." He finished with an exasperated sigh.

"So you're still suspecting Elinja of something? That she might have taken influence on them? Somehow?" Aramis made sure.

"I don't know, I'm really confused about all that stuff. I mean, one day everythin' is normal and the other... the other our whelp is talkin' to an unconscious Athos and he simply obeys. And neither you, nor d'Artagnan, nor even the Captain is wonderin' about it, or at least, none of you have mentioned anythin' about it to me. It nearly drove me nuts, but I didn't say anythin'. We were worryin' enough already."

"What if I tell you, you're right?" the Spaniard whispered.

For a moment the burly musketeer held his breath, before he slowly exhaled. "What do you know?"

"Not much," Aramis admitted. "I wanted to ask her about her special skill, the one you just mentioned, because yes, I noticed something as well, but somehow I didn't know how to start. Though, she confessed to me that she indeed did something to d'Artagnan and Athos. And in the same line she stressed she didn't want to harm anyone of us."

"But you still don't know what exactly she's capable of," Porthos concluded.

"She didn't list her skills," Aramis said with a hint of irony in his voice. "But she told me that she had taken influence on d'Artagnan, that she increased his perception of Athos. In which way exactly, she didn't tell me, but she told me whom to ask."

Porthos only thought briefly, then he huffed when he realized the answer. "Athos," he stated, "she's told Athos."

*14AAA41*

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The past days had been eventless at the garrison. D'Artagnan had been given the responsibility for the remaining horses during the regiment's absence, and the last two days also had him standing guard half of the night. Meanwhile Athos had been a model patient, most of the time resting on the bed and reading the books the Gascon had fetched from his apartments. Although he'd been complaining about what he was forced to drink, he had always done it. He had also become somewhat immune to the tiring effects of the pain draughts, no longer feeling the need to sleep all day, although, he had reduced the amount of pain medication he was accepting.

The swordsman more and more had become independent in moving around in his room and today even had managed to get dressed without help. His coughing fits had finally stopped about a day ago, adding to his increasing independency. Although his ribs still were bothering him, especially when he moved the wrong way or too quickly, he no longer suffered those breathtaking attacks. Though, despite his surprisingly quick returning strength, he hadn't yet left his sick chamber, even when he started to get bored and really yearned to be outside again, seeing the sun and feeling its warmth on his skin.

He had much too much time to think, finally being on his own, and he slowly regretted that his wish for privacy had been fulfilled. As long as his brothers had been with him, they had distracted him, their presence had even stopped his usual nightmares. But now the memories of his feverish dreams slowly crept into his uneventful days and followed him into his sleep, and he didn't know how to drive them away. That was why a change was badly needed, any change, anything that could distract him, and quickly.

Remembering what Aramis had told him before the regiment had left, the convalescent now impatiently waited for his youngest brother to return. The Gascon had briefly shown up this morning after his nightshift and promised him to return for breakfast, before he had headed for his own room, giving Athos privacy while taking care of his daily needs.

The swordsman had allowed himself plenty of time to do so, always moving slowly and cautious to not aggravate his healing side. After he was finally finished, and had himself dressed completely on his own, he had waited patiently for some time. He had even sat down on the edge of his bed and continued reading one of his books, being bound and determined to keep his promise.

But the words in the book couldn't stop his mind from turning the glimpses of his nightmares over and over again, so he put it aside and tried to concentrate on something else. Without success... Deciding to hold out just another couple of minutes, it was his grumbling stomach that finally blasted his determination into pieces. So, when according to him, it lasted far too long for his little brother to return, the ex-comte resolved to make his way to the yard on his own, finding himself breakfast and maybe some distraction.

Taking a careful, deep breath, Athos slowly rose from the edge of the bed. Steadying himself with his hands on the wall, he waited patiently till the dizziness passed before he started to walk outside. Given that he had been unconscious for over a week, not able to eat, and that he had suffered days of a dangerous high fever, he felt surprisingly good.

Shortly he thought about other men who had been similarly injured, but he couldn't remember one of them walking around just three days after finally waking up. To be honest, he could not remember anyone having survived.

Pondering if he was some sort of a miracle or if he just had been lucky to be treated by that exceptional woman from Persia, he step by step took the three stairs upwards, thoroughly holding onto the wall to keep himself steady. When he reached the yard's ground, he stayed there for a moment, breathing slowly and readying himself for the short walk over to their usual table. Briefly he considered to stay where he was, and simply wait a little bit longer for d'Artagnan to assist him, but he soon decided otherwise.

He most certainly was capable to walk those few steps over to their usual table on his own. Confused, and somehow disappointed and a little relieved that nobody yet had noticed him, even though the yard was rather crowded, he left his resting place and headed for his original goal.

He just had left the archway, making his third step without any support, when one of his fellow musketeers hurried out of the kitchen, his attention turned backwards.

*14AAA41*

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As it was bound to happen, the man didn't see Athos and ran straight into him. The impact made both of them stumble, but whilst Michel quickly regained his equilibrium, the swordsman wasn't so lucky.

Staggering across the space between archway and table, Athos finally lost his footing, and in a desperate attempt to hang onto something, he gripped an abandoned chair just to tumble down to the ground with it. Unable to stop his fall, Athos hit the seat with his injured left side, crushing it under his weight, and felt something tear in his flank, eliciting a sudden flare of pain that took his breath away just before his world turned black.

"Damn... Athos!" Michel called out, quickly closing the small distance between himself and the fallen man. He dropped to his knees, wishing to help, and nearly panicked when he didn't get a reaction to his touch. Looking up, he found his comrades goggling, forming a circle around him and the fallen man, each of them looking as shocked as he was. Michel was going to shout for help, when suddenly the noise of someone running down the stairs sounded from behind him.

*14AAA41*

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D'Artagnan was unsettled, like a cat on hot bricks, and again shifted in his seat.

Phillipe, the Captain's substitute for the days of his absence, had called him into the office on his way back to his room to ask him about the horses and if anything was needed. The Gascon had answered the questions quickly, eager to get back, but Phillipe seemed not to notice how uneasy he felt. He continued talking and questioning him about Athos' condition and what Aramis had said, before he started with a tale of one of his fellows, who hadn't been as lucky as Athos.

Only partially listening, the Gascon felt the urgent need to leave, sensing something was going wrong. When his opposite simply didn't stop, d'Artagnan rose and excused himself flimsily, muttering something about feeling unwell, and left before the still babbling man could stop him. He had just reached the stairs when he heard some indefinable bluster down in the courtyard followed by Michel's exclamation.

Deathly sure that his gut feeling had been right again, the Gascon almost flew down the steps. Pushing his way through his shocked, goggling comrades, he rushed over to Athos, who was lying on the ground, unmoving, lips tinged slightly blue. Taking in the surroundings, the young man noticed the broken chair and immediately imagined what had happened.

"Thank God, d'Artagnan. I'm so sorry, I didn't see him. We bumped together and then he fell and now he doesn't react. I don't know what to do, I didn't wanna hurt him. It was an accident," Michel rambled.

"Relax, Michel, I'm sure it wasn't your fault," d'Artagnan comforted the perturbed man, whilst dropping to his knees. "I'll take care of him."

Pushing back the worry that was threatening to overwhelm him, he reached out with a slightly shaking hand to search for a pulse. When he touched Athos' neck, he let out the breath he had been holding without noticing it. There it was, faint and staggering, but still there. Gently pushing the unconscious man onto his back, the Gascon discovered his laboured breathing and the first stains of red at his mentor's wounded side.

"Damn," he cursed, but he immediately pulled himself together. Aramis was gone and his comrades seemed to be as shocked as he was. Suddenly he knew why Aramis had insisted on teaching him how to deal with injuries. So, for Athos' sake he now must stop worrying and act instead.

Taking a deep breath he looked up, determined to do what was necessary, even if that meant to command his comrades despite his youth. "I need a towel, or a shirt, something to stop the bleeding," he said in a firm voice, addressing the musketeers in his line of sight. One of the men nodded and turned, heading in the direction of the kitchen.

"Call a physician," was the Gascon's next command. "Athos seems to have torn the stitches, he's bleeding again." Another man left the circle and headed for the gates.

Concentrating on Athos again, d'Artagnan continued, addressing no one in particular. "Find something to lay him on; we need to bring him into the infirmary without moving him too much. And provide hot and cold water, the physician will need that." Two more man left to do as he had asked.

When the Gascon looked up again, the musketeer, who had run to the kitchen, had returned and now handed him some clean towels. "Thank you," d'Artagnan murmured, folding them into a neat package, before he pressed it firmly at his brother's flank.

*14AAA41*

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D'Artagnan's action made the unconscious man moan and flinch, then his hands moved aimlessly and his eyes started fluttering as he slowly fought his way back to the living.

Blinking multiple times, Athos finally regained consciousness, his vision still blurry. He managed to focus on the face near him, trying to form a reassuring smile, but failed when the nearly overwhelming pain made his face morph into a grimace. Trying to sit up, he couldn't stifle the groan escaping his lips when the pain flared up. Squeezing his eyes shut, he struggled against his hitching breath, threatening to lose consciousness again.

"Shsh..., stay still. Don't move. It's alright, I'm here. Look at me, Athos," d'Artagnan demanded.

When the fallen managed to establish eye contact, the Gascon smiled warmly. "That's it, now just breathe, slowly, carefully. I'm with you. We'll bring you to the infirmary and look after your wound. Just keep hanging on a bit longer."

Giving an almost invisible tilt of his head, the swordsman concentrated on the task of staying conscious and trying to breathe evenly. When he was lifted by two of his comrades and laid onto the door being used to carry him, the movement aggravating the pain momentarily, he had to bite his lips to stifle the scream. Almost losing his grip on reality again, he focused on his little brother's voice, and the young man's hands on his body, after some hellish seconds, grounded him once more.

While he was carried to the infirmary, d'Artagnan never released the pressure applied at his hurting side, not even when he was moved onto the readied operation table.

And so they stayed there, Athos lying on the table again and fighting the pain, his protégé staunching the bleeding; and waited for the physician, both fully aware of the fact that it would be neither Aramis nor Dr. Lemay nor Elinja but someone unknown, with skills unknown...


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** _Thank you to Debbie, A reader and AnotherGuest for your reviews._

 _To Debbie: Was it too evil to let Porthos be the first to notice the 'touching-thing', but the last one to be informed? ;)_

 _To A reader: I hope you're already breathing again, would have been a very long turn... *g*_

 _To AnotherGuest: Hmm... sorry to disappoint you, but as announced in the beginning, there are no more than the promised 21... ;( But I'm almost done with another story and a third one is in the pipeline, as is a possible sequel._

 _TO ALL of you: Sorry for the delay, but I'm currently fighting a nasty chest cold and therefore found myself lacking the energy to answer the reviews and post the next chap. But it's getting better..._

 _xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX_

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 **Chapter Eighteen**

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They had been lucky, because the physician had had some experience with stitching up rather gruel wounds, too.

Thank God, Athos' fall had not been hard enough to tear the deeper, muscular stitches completely, only two of them had given way, so there had been no need to redo them. With d'Artagnan's assistance, the unfamiliar doctor had been able to staunch the bleeding and had made a fine, neat suture on Athos's flank, despite the ragged and torn flesh. The swordsman stubbornly had refused to lose consciousness during the treatment, firmly clinging onto d'Artagnan's free hand and nearly breaking his bones.

But as soon as the wound was wrapped again, the Gascon had fetched the opium grains and with one stern look - one of which his mentor would have been proud of, had he been in better shape - he had made Athos take them without fussing. Remaining at his brother's side, d'Artagnan had watched his eyes close, his breathing becoming easier and then his whole body relax as the ex-comte had succumbed to the opium-induced sleep.

Soon after the physician had left, Phillipe had visited the infirmary, inquiring for Athos' condition and telling the Gascon that he'd be off guard- rotation till the regiment's return. The older musketeer also had suggested moving the sleeping man back to his room for he knew how much Athos would appreciate his own walls around him.

D'Artagnan had accepted the offer gratefully, and with the help of their comrades they had brought Athos back to his room.

When the re-injured man hadn't wakened, the young Gascon had made himself comfortable in a chair near the sickbed, placing his hand on its familiar spot on Athos' chest. It had lasted only minutes till the young man was also asleep, exhausted from his nightshift, the morning's mental stress and his worry about his older brother.

*14AAA41*

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The rumbling of his stomach ended d'Artagnan's sleep. With the incident that morning, he had missed breakfast, so now his belly was bitterly complaining of its emptiness. Rising slowly and stretching his cramped limbs, he watched Athos for a while, paying special attention to his breathing, before he left to obtain something to eat.

Only minutes later, the Gascon returned with some bread and cheese, also carrying a mug with hot water to prepare another tea for the recovering man should he wake up soon. Not really surprised when he found himself being watched by the swordsman, d'Artagnan entered the room, a content smile on his face. He could see that Athos still was hurting, but he also knew that his friend would refuse another pain medication, at least for now.

"Would you mind sharing that?" the swordsman asked, surprising him with the question.

"Course not... Although I'm rather hungry, not to say starving, I'd always share my meals with you. Lastly I won't be responsible for letting you starve since Aramis surely would kill me." He grinned.

Athos returned the grin, before he carefully brought himself into a sitting position, one hand firmly pressed on his left side, and gritting his teeth. As soon as he started moving, d'Artagnan hurried over to him, pushing some more pillows in his back and assisting him in finding an adequate position, one that on the one hand was not aggravating the pain and on the other hand made him able to eat comfortably.

They ate in silence and when both of them were finished, Athos stared out of the window for a while before he turned his attention back to his minder, sitting at the table again after preparing the next mug of the special herbs-tea.

"So, how bad is it?" the ex-comte asked, not really remembering what had happened after his fall, for his brain had been muzzled with pain.

"Not as bad as I first thought, when I saw you lying on the ground with the chair crushed under you," the younger retorted without looking at him, sounding slightly annoyed and also disappointed. "But bad enough, though..."

"I'm sorry..."

Stunned, d'Artagnan locked eyes with his mentor, seeing nothing other than sincerity and regret in the older man's look.

"I didn't... I should have waited for you," Athos continued. "But I felt that good and I was getting bored," he stopped, thinking about what to tell his little brother, "and I really needed a distraction."

"Distraction?"

Briefly closing his eyes, the convalescent nodded. "From my thoughts and my memories and my dreams. Being restricted to this room, watching the same walls day and night, gave me far too much time to think. And to remember..."

"Pinon?"

"Amongst other things. But I also had some weird dreams while I was fighting the fever, very unpleasant, disturbing dreams I really want to forget. Although it seems I can't..." again his voice faded.

D'Artagnan remained silent, sensing that his brother had more to say.

"Maybe it wasn't just dreams, maybe those experiences were real, at least partially, I don't know." Again the swordsman paused, looking out of the window, whilst d'Artagnan waited for him to continue to tell him what was bothering him.

The Gascon had been sensing something odd within his brother over the past few days, and he was beginning to think that Athos' behaviour somehow was caused by the events of the last weeks, especially of the first nights. His last words indicated that he had experienced some weird dreams, some things that still haunted him. If he concentrated, he could feel that his mentor was still somewhat scared. He could feel that Athos felt the urge to talk, but couldn't bring himself to finally do it. So, d'Artagnan just waited, hoping that the swordsman would change his mind. But when there were voices outside and laughter sounding from the yard, the moment was gone.

"You didn't answer my question, d'Artagnan. How bad is it?" asked Athos.

With a frustrated sigh, the Gascon decided not to urge him to talk about his feelings. In time his brother would tell him, he just had to wait a bit longer. A task he slowly should get used to...

"Half of the stitches were torn, and you've lost some blood, not too much, thank God. But the physician was quite skilled and his stitches are as fine as Aramis', maybe better."

"Don't tell him that," Athos deadpanned.

The younger couldn't help but grin. "If he yet again boasts with that 'seamstress-thing', I surely will tell him. Somehow he must be knocked down a peg."

Athos smirked. "They'll be back tomorrow afternoon, won't they?"

"Yes, at least that's been the plan. But who knows what crosses his majesty mind? Maybe he gets bored, then they'll be on their way back already, or he decides to stay a day longer." With an ironic smile the Gascon shrugged. "We'll just have to wait. Again..."

"Hmm, but perhaps we can go out and share our fellows company? Only to avoid getting bored," Athos suggested, at least having the grace to look apologetic.

Though, his words earned him a scowling look, very similar to his own he had to ascertain. The whelp obviously was adopting not only some of his qualities, but also his expressions. _I don't know if I should appreciate that_...

"You **definitely** won't leave this room within the next three days," d'Artagnan firmly stated. "You wouldn't even leave this bed if it was up to me. But the physician said that you'd be allowed to get up and sit at the table, so I was overruled," he took a little break to look his brother in the eyes. "But I **insist** that you don't leave this bed without me or someone else being with you. Another fall might end up much worse, pushing a broken rib into your lung and making you choke on your own blood or tearing all those stitches again. You just don't realise how lucky you've been, do you?" His voice had grown more excited the longer he had spoken and he had risen and moved nearer to the bed.

Slightly shocked, Athos waited a moment before answering. "D'Artagnan, I've already apologized. I just didn't think..."

"You scared me," the younger interrupted him, his voice suddenly no more than a whisper. "Again," he added after a short break, swallowing thickly and turning away.

"D'Artagnan, please," the swordsman reached out and barely gripped his arm, flinching when the sudden movement pulled at the fresh stitches. When his protégé looked at him again, he continued, "I'm really sorry. I never intended to hurt you with my actions. But maybe I've underestimated my condition just a little bit. Forgive me, please..."

Smiling at the quite frank, but surely 'Athos-like' statement, the older man's plea somewhat stunned him. So the Gascon took a seat at the edge of the bed and took his brother's hand. "You're already forgiven, Athos. It wasn't your fault, not quite at least. But please don't do it again, I've had enough of this for the rest of my life."

"That, indeed, I cannot promise."

With a frown, d'Artagnan rose and turned away, huffing in frustration. He had hoped Athos would talk about what was going on in his head, and that little conversation they had just shared had been the perfect opportunity, but alas, Athos would never change, would never share his worries, not really at least. The young man's anger flared and he started to walk away from the bed, not looking back.

 _How, for heaven's sake, could I ever believe that he would speak to me or share his burden? And now it just looks like he's returning to his usual annoying, stubborn and self-destructing behaviour. I only wish he would tell me about those dreams that are haunting him. I can feel that they do... and it makes me hurt. Maybe I should use my new-found ability? Only once?... No, that wouldn't be right. I can't use his trust..._

Trying to grip his leaving brother's hand, Athos bent over, but he failed and instead froze in the midst of his movement, unable to stifle the groan escaping his lips. This movement was just one too much and it elicited a flare of pain in his freshly stitched side.

 _After re-stitching it hurts even more_ , he realised, when his breath hitched. Fighting the grey dots dancing in his vision, he carefully exhaled, only to gasp in pain when he started to inhale again. The ache still was increasing, his crouched position putting pressure on his broken ribs and making him unable to breathe properly, let alone move.

"D'Artagnan..." he uttered in desperation, wasting his last oxygen for his plea for help.

*14AAA41*

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The Gascon had wandered over to the door, opening it and leaning against the doorframe, trying to calm himself down. He was so deep in his thoughts concerning Athos, and how he was angry with the swordsman, he didn't notice his breathless plea until it was nearly too late.

Turning on his heels and practically jumping back to the bed, d'Artagnan gently pushed the invalid back to the mattress, putting his one hand against the wound and the other one on the gasping man's chest. Instantly he started murmuring soothing words, letting his voice and his touch do the miracle.

Only a few minutes later the swordsman lay calmly in his bed again, his colour returning back to normal and his breath gradually evening out. With a relieved sigh, the younger briefly shook his head and sadly grinned to himself.

 _Why did I get upset because of his stubbornness? I really should know him better than to expect such a promise_...

Athos, who had managed to finally overcome the pain, intensely watched his caretaker. And of course he didn't miss the sad smirk appearing at his brother's face. "I'm sorry," he repeated, once more feeling the need to apologize.

His words startled the young man sitting next to him and when the Gascon looked him into the eyes, he mentally cursed himself. His little brother definitely deserved more than what he had given him, so the swordsman decided to make a promise that he most probably would be able to keep.

"I really can't promise to not scare you again, d'Artagnan, for we never know what comes next on a mission or what kind of trouble we'll find," he started.

"I know," his opposite interrupted him with a sigh. "Really, I know that. But it's not what I meant, Athos, and you know it..." his voice faded.

Nodding, Athos continued, "But I promise I will be more careful, if that's good enough for you."

That earned him a surprised look, followed by a sly smile from his protégé. "I think, I can live with that."

*14AAA41*

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"I've never been so thankful for the boredom of his majesty," Aramis whispered, barely loud enough that Porthos could hear him.

The burly musketeer answered his statement with a chuckle as he urged his horse into a faster pace. King Louis had indeed become bored by the presence of the margrave, the man speaking French with a terrible accent and talking constantly about the glorious protestant union. In addition, neither of the nobles had accomplished to shoot any game, it seemed as if the forest of Versailles had plotted against the royal hunting party and had made all sort of huntable wildlife disappear.

After two days riding around with no deer or boars or even rabbits crossing his sight, instead being forced to listen to his guests babbling, the king had announced his wish to return to Paris by sunset. The hunting expedition had, thank god, been completely eventless, neither anyone having an accident nor someone trying to kill the king despite the threats Treville had spoken of.

And so the active part of 'The Inseparables' found themselves again in front of the royal party, scouting the area and longing to return to their brothers.

"So, since we're on the way back now, what's 'bout a little bet?" Porthos asked in a half-loud voice.

"What are we going to wager on?" the medic asked back.

"I say that Athos' done somethin' stupid, like sneakin' out, stumblin' over some stairs and hurtin' himself again."

Aramis considered his brother's statement a while, than shook his head. "No, I'm prone to believe that he's been, at least once, sensible. So I hold against it."

"What's the bet? Looser's buyin' diner?

"Agreed..."

"Oi! Then I'll restrain myself today, it'll be worthwhile," Porthos stated with a broad grin.

"If Athos for once did indeed follow all medical advices and is in a better state than we left him in, then I'll buy all of you, d'Artagnan included, drinks tonight," Treville, who had silently caught up with his two best, dryly announced.

Startled, Porthos and Aramis turned in their saddles and Porthos smiled even broader. "Bet accepted, Captain."

"I'm not your Captain."

"Whatever you say, **Sir** ," Aramis retorted. "But I'm truly looking forward to today's evening. Meal and drinks from my friends, what else could I wish for?"

*14AAA41*

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After their delayed breakfast and his promise, d'Artagnan helped Athos use the chamber pot, both men rather content when the urine's colour looked almost normal. At least, Athos' fall hadn't compounded his kidney injury.

Then, lying in his bed again, the convalescent admitted to being tired and in pain again, so the Gascon made another pain draught, which Athos drank without fussing. Only minutes later the ex-comte had fallen asleep, obviously resting peacefully without any disturbance from his weird memories.

Quickly, the younger tidied up the room as he'd done so often the last few days, becoming more and more seasoned at the task. After that he wandered over to the stables for a short while, speaking to the stable boys. Jacques, who had watched the drama regarding Athos, took the opportunity to ask him about the swordsman, sighing in relief when he heard that the man would recover.

Once the Gascon was out in the yard again, he bit by bit encountered the remaining musketeers, answering their worried questions and smiling at the thought of how much every one of them seemed to cherish his older brother.

Considering that Athos would still be asleep, the young man allowed himself a short rest at their usual table, soaking up the still warming afternoon-sun. As a Gascon, he was used to higher temperatures and sometimes he missed the sunny days of his home. Paris was often cloudy or even rainy, making him freeze many times in his early days in the city. It had taken some time for him to get used to the unfamiliar weather, his clothes in the beginning often insufficient for keeping him warm.

Grinning inwardly, he remembered the first time he had stood guard with his brothers in summer, the sun burning down the sky and making each of them sweat in their heavy dress uniform. It hadn't taken him long to recognize that they had been betting on his endurance and he had enjoyed Aramis' and Porthos' disappointed and Athos' content, almost proud look, when he didn't falter.

*14AAA41*

.

Head tilted back, feet propped up on one of the benches, d'Artagnan had been sitting for a while when he heard the sound of approaching horses. Slowly straightening himself, he rose from his resting place and watched the gates, smiling when he saw the regiment return, his brothers and Captain Treville at the lead. He waited till all of the men had dismounted, the yard becoming a big tangle of snorting horses, tired musketeers and rushing stable boys. But the confusion didn't last long, soon after their arrival most of the horses were lead to their bays and the men had entered the refectory to find something to eat. Only Treville, Aramis and Porthos stayed outside and walked over to where the Gascon was standing.

"You're earlier than expected," the young man greeted the trio, nodding shortly to Treville before hugging his brothers. "So the king wasn't lucky, I guess."

Porthos, grinning, shook his head. "Nope. After some disappointin' trips into the forest with seeing nothin' more than trees and bushes, he got bored. And here we are..."

"Where's Athos?" Aramis asked with mild curiosity. "He was supposed to be outside by now."

"Well," d'Artagnan started with a smile on his face, "he has been."

"So he has become tired and went to rest?" the medic interrupted him, wishing his assumption to be right.

"He's resting, that's right," the Gascon approved.

"But..?" Treville questioned, interpreting his expression correctly by guessing that something had happened.

"What's he done?" Porthos fell in, casting Aramis a knowing, triumphant glance, making him sigh.

"Oh no..." The medic's expression darkened when he realised that he most likely had lost the bet. But at once his concern dispelled his chagrin. "How bad is it?"

"He fell upon a chair, crushing it under him. The impact tore some of the stitches."

"How did that happen?" Treville looked rather confused.

"Well... Actually it wasn't his fault, at least not all of it. Athos has been unusually sensible, obeying all of Aramis' and Elinja's instructions, even drinking anything I told him to. He was improving sweepingly fast, able to walk around in his room on his own soon after you left. And then he got bored..." d'Artagnan took a short break and watched the knowing expressions on his brothers' faces.

"And did somethin' stupid," Porthos said.

"Not really. In the beginning, he waited for my return to accompany him outside to our table, but then he got impatient because I was delayed. So he walked into the yard on his own, only to be knocked down by Michel, who was rushing out of the kitchen without looking. In his effort to stabilize himself, Athos gripped a chair, but instead he crushed down on it. That was just this morning."

"Then I have to go and check on him," Aramis turned, starting to walk to Athos' room, but was stopped by his youngest brother.

"We called a physician, Aramis, who redid the sutures. And I gave Athos some Opium afterwards, for he, just as expected, refused to become unconscious. He has wakened just some hours ago, and eaten as well, before he took another pain draught and went back to bed. So he's fine right now, I assure you."

"Thanks lad, but you surely understand that I must have a look at him myself," Aramis gently wiped d'Artagnan's hand from his arm.

"Of course. I didn't want to deter you from looking after him, Aramis. I know you're worried. So go and take a look and in the meantime I'll fetch something to eat for you and Porthos. You must be hungry."

"Oi, whelp, that sounds good. But not too much for me, for I'm invited to dinner this evenin'." Porthos grinned broadly, before he followed the Spaniard, who had already left.

Furrowing his brows, the Gascon looked after them, then to Treville. When he saw the Captain smiling, he understood. "They were betting, weren't they?"

"Of course," the Captain confirmed. "And now Aramis is to buy Porthos dinner and all of us drinks this evening."

"So you wagered, too," the younger man concluded, seeing the smirk in his Captain's face.

Giving him a mere shrug of his shoulders, Treville also turned and walked over to the sick room, wishing for his part to make sure of Athos' condition.

Discarding his idea of fetching a meal, the youngest lastly followed his brothers. If they were to have dinner this evening, there was no need to eat something in the interim.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** _Thanks to AnotherGuest and Debbie for your reviews, as always they're really appreciated. About that bet... well, it simply had to be that way, hadn't it?_

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 **Chapter Nineteen**

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Being woken by the noise in the yard, the seasoned soldier in Athos at once recognized the sounds of the regiment's return. Remembering his minder's words earlier this day, the swordsman had decided to stay in bed and wait for his brothers' visit, sure that they'd come as soon as they'd heard about his misfortune.

When Aramis stormed into his room, Athos smiled knowingly. The medic's facial expression was rapidly changing from deeply worried to ultimate relief and then to... Well, regarding the way Aramis looked at him now, he knew the Spaniard most likely would start ranting at him immediately.

He slowly sat up, carefully shifting his position in his bed so he could lean against the wall, and waited.

"It's good to see you awake," the medic greeted him. "D'Artagnan told us what happened. You just couldn't have waited till he was back, could you? It's a miracle you got off that easy, the fall also could have driven your broken ribs into your lung," he smoothly changed from relieved greeting into scolding.

"Welcome back, Aramis," Athos answered, ignoring the taunting tone of his voice completely. Seeing the other visitors enter, he greeted them, too. "Porthos, good to see you. Captain..."

While Treville stayed at the door, Porthos went over to the bed to hug his brother carefully, eliciting a hiss of pain from him. "Sorry," he mumbled and let go.

"Let me look at that wound," Aramis demanded, still rather upset, mixed with relief to see him awake and coherent, and worried about the possible consequences.

"It's fine, Aramis," Athos declared, glaring at him. "The physician did a good job."

Both men fought a duel with their eyes, neither of them wanting to surrender. But after a moment, Aramis turned away with an annoyed sigh and took seat on a chair, rubbing his hands over his face.

Watching him, Athos sighed too. "You can look at it later," he offered. "But I assure you, I'm fine. Although it really hurts," he admitted untypically frankly. He found himself pierced by three astonished pairs of eyes and merely shrugged. "What?" he asked.

"Who are you and what have you done with Athos?" Porthos asked.

"That's what I've been asking myself as well," d'Artagnan fell in. "You're sudden change in behaviour is driving me mad. Sometimes you're acting just like always- stubborn and withdrawn, and other times you're remarkably sensible and frank. Although... I must admit your 'part-time-new-self' has made things much easier."

"So... Would you mind telling us why you're behaving rather strange? At least by your standards?" Aramis inquired.

Taking a deep breath, flinching when it pulled on his still hurting side and his broken ribs, Athos briefly thought about the question. Seeing the worry in his friends' eyes he decided to at least give them a hint. He still felt not ready to tell them about his fevered dreams and the feelings that had chased him while he had been unconscious, although he knew that sometime he had to be honest. _But not yet... maybe later sometime, when I've gotten drunk_...

"Perhaps I decided to honour your care and your concern with acting sensible. Just to make things easier for all of you, as you surely deserve," the swordsman finally said, his words leaving his brothers stunned. Treville, still leaning against the doorframe, only tilted his head and furrowed his brows.

Aramis was the first to recover. "And when did you come to that realization?" His voice still sounded slightly sarcastic, making Athos cringe a bit. "No, wait," the medic continued. "Maybe I should ask **who** made you realize that, for I'm sure it hasn't been me or one of the others. Am I right?"

"I'm sorry." Again the convalescent surprised them all.

"What are you apologisin' for?" Porthos asked.

"For everything?" Athos offered.

"Hmmpf," the Spaniard huffed in frustration. "Don't dare think I'd let you get away that easy. You will tell us, Athos. Maybe not right now, maybe first we have to make you drunk enough, but you will speak to us. For now I will let you off the hook, for I'm tired and hungry. But I won't forget."

Briefly closing his eyes, smiling faintly by the similarity of his and his brother's thoughts, the swordsman looked up and crossed eyes with the medic, before casting a glance over to d'Artagnan, who looked eager but also sympathetic, and then to Porthos, who simply smiled in understanding. "I promise I will tell you, but for now I'm just glad to have you at my side," he said, pure sincerity in his voice.

Treville just smiled, nodded and then silently left the room, his leave only noticed by Athos.

"Oi! So Aramis mentioned being hungry," Porthos changed topic, pushing the thick emotions away, "I suggest he goes and finds dinner. I'm starvin'!"

Aramis shot him an annoyed look and d'Artagnan couldn't help but chuckle, remembering the bet. Athos cocked his brows, slightly confused, before comprehension dawned on him. "You wagered!" he incriminated his two returned friends.

"Yep!" Porthos frankly admitted. "And I won!"

"And I'm buying dinner and drinks tonight," Aramis complained, casting the wounded man an accusing glance.

"Well, for I'm the reason you lost your bet," Athos started, "and I'm grateful that at least you believed in me, dinner and drinks tonight are on me. But because I'm not allowed to leave this room," he looked over to their youngest who slightly blushed, "you have to go and fetch it."

"You know, why," d'Artagnan retorted, successfully copying Athos' look of 'don't-dare-arguing', which made Aramis and Porthos chuckle.

"It clearly was right to leave the whelp behind," the burly musketeer declared. "Seems like he's done an impressive job."

Athos just frowned and Porthos' chuckle grew into laughter, soon followed by Aramis'.

"Now at least I know how to make you cooperate," the medic said, still giggling.

This time it was Athos who harrumphed. "So what's about fetching diner?" he asked, nodding to d'Artagnan who handed him over his purse.

"It will be our pleasure," Porthos and Aramis retorted in unison, the latter taking the coins from him.

*14AAA41*

.

Almost two hours later Aramis and Porthos returned, arms full of bowls, cups, bread and bottles of wine.

They had made their way to their favourite tavern, where they had to wait a short time whilst the cook had been preparing Athos' favourite stew. After returning to the garrison the two had borrowed Serge's kitchen to heat up the cooled down kettle. It still hung over the fire, while they prepared the table.

When Porthos headed for the kitchen again to fetch the kettle, Aramis went to the Captain's office to invite Treville. He as well as Porthos knew how much their commanding officer valued Athos, and that he had been equally concerned about the swordsman's well-being. Besides, the Captain had partaken in their bet, and the man constantly was stressing that he wasn't their Captain any longer. So, to treat Treville like the comrade, he seemingly wanted to be, the medic tonight would make him enter their small family.

His knocking at the door was answered by a barked, "Come in!" so Aramis entered the office, seeing Treville sitting at the desk and writing down his report. "Captain..."

"Aramis," the Captain greeted the medic without lifting his head, "what can I do for you?"

"Dinner's ready, Sir," the Spaniard said. "We would like you to share it with us."

Treville looked up, obviously surprised, but ready to reject the invitation.

"No, Captain, don't argue with me," Aramis pre-empted him. "I know you must be hungry, because you didn't eat anything as well, and as you were part of the bet, it is your win as it is Porthos'. Moreover, I know you care for Athos just like we do and," a mischievous grin appeared on his face, "you always stress that you're just another comrade, so there's no way to excuse yourself this evening."

Treville couldn't help but smile. The Spaniard was right in every word he had said and he wouldn't negotiate that. So he simply nodded and rose from his chair. "I never would dare reject your friendly, polite invitation, Aramis. Give me a few minutes, I'll follow you soon."

Grinning broadly, the medic turned and made his way back to Athos' room.

*14AAA41*

.

Meanwhile, d'Artagnan had helped Athos over to the table. After the events of the day the swordsman still felt a little bit dizzy and his injuries were hurting, but he decided to ignore that. He would share a relaxed evening meal with his friends, listen to their tales and maybe get a tiny bit drunk for the first time in weeks. Perhaps that would, combined with another pain draught, keep his weird dreams at bay tonight.

Sitting in his chair, Athos looked content whilst he waited for his friends to return. After exchanging a quick look, d'Artagnan poured his older brother a cup of wine, aware of the fact that nobody would stop Athos from drinking his preferred liquid tonight. Though, he still hoped that his mentor's prudence would last some hours longer.

When Porthos returned with the steaming kettle, the Gascon assisted him in putting it onto a free stool, before he took a seat himself.

Only minutes later Aramis entered the room, smiling smugly, and grabbed the big spoon to fill his brother's bowls.

"Treville will come as well," the medic told his brothers, when they looked at him questioningly. "When I remembered him telling us that he isn't Captain any longer, he stopped arguing. Not that I had given him any time to start with it," he added with a grin.

His statement made Porthos and d'Artagnan laugh out loud and even Athos huffed with amusement, flinching when his injuries protested. Eyeing him carefully, the Spaniard noticed the fine lines of pain in his face, but he also saw his oldest brother's determination.

Athos would share this meal with his friends and he wouldn't say a single word about his pain or tolerate one of them speaking about it. _Stubborn as ever_ , Aramis thought.

*14AAA41*

.

During the meal, the men talked about everything but the past events and their suspicions regarding Elinja. Athos mainly kept silent, content to listen to his friend's tales and to their usual banter. Now and again a smile adorned his face when the stories told became too incredible. Even Treville contributed to the easy chat, telling tales about former hunting events or teasing Porthos and Aramis with comments regarding their former missions.

D'Artagnan however, confined himself to listening, enjoying the stories about the times before he met his friends.

He, Aramis and Porthos as well as the Captain, had an eye on their wounded brother, each of the men ready to end the relaxed evening as soon as the ex-comte showed any signs of pain or exhaustion.

Athos barely had eaten, instead he had held onto the wine, slowly emptying one cup after the other. The wine had taken away at least a part of the pain, but it also made him feel quite light-headed and sluggish. Knowing that he had to stop, for else he wouldn't reach his bed, he put his cup back on the table and leaned back, unwittingly pressing his arm against his wounded side.

Watching the revealing movement, d'Artagnan put his hand on his mentor's arm, briefly closing his eyes to concentrate. "You should go to bed, Athos," the Gascon stated, successfully stopping the conversation.

"I'm fi..." Athos began, but he immediately was interrupted by his young minder.

"No, you're surely not fine," d'Artagnan began. "Your wound causes you throbbing pain, and you can barely hold yourself upright, 'cause you're beyond exhausted. Moreover, you cannot breathe properly, for your ribs are killing you. And, in addition to all of that, the bit of wine, you drank, is already making you feel dizzy."

When Athos started to protest, the Gascon shook his head and continued. "Don't even **try** to deny it, I can feel it," he said. "I simply **know**."

His words were followed by astonished silence, then Aramis and Porthos exchanged a knowing look.

"It still works," Porthos stated.

"Hmm..." Aramis agreed. "Thank God it's just us who heard that."

"Stop," Treville interjected. "What are you two talking about?" he asked, contradicting Aramis' last words. "Why does d'Artagnan know about Athos' condition exactly? And what still works? Some of it I could understand, for it's simply logical, but..." Treville stopped and looked at the youngest in the group. "How can you know what his," he nodded into Athos' direction, "pain feels like?"

The Gascon merely shrugged. "I just know," he answered, before he rose to his feet and grabbed Athos right arm, intending to get the older man over to his bed.

"It's Elinja's doing," Aramis told the Captain, rising in turn and carefully taking hold of his wounded friend's other arm. Together with d'Artagnan they helped Athos over to the bed, the two making short shrift and undressing the swordsman before they tucked him in. That the ex-comte simply tolerated their fussing spoke volumes.

"Wait... you're saying that the Persian physician has done something with d'Artagnan?" Treville asked. He had suspected that the woman could read minds, but she had told him otherwise. _She has lied to me, she does have mental powers!_ He thought. _And she has manipulated me as well_...

"Elinja told Aramis that she had something to do with our young friend's extra-ordinary skill of knowing how Athos feels," Porthos explained, seeing Treville's confused expression. "But she also insisted that she didn't mean to harm anyone."

"And that it would diminish over time," Aramis added, returning to the table, "but that's all I learned when I accompanied her back to Lemay's house. Though, she told me whom to ask for more..."

"Whom?" Treville asked.

Aramis simply turned and looked at Athos, who was lying in his bed, eyes closed. Following the medic's example, Porthos and Treville turned their chairs as well, all three watching the wounded man expectantly.

*14AAA41*

.

Athos could feel their glances piercing him. Reluctantly, he began to think that maybe he had to tell his friends at least a part of what had happened, the 'Elinja-part'. He felt tired and was in pain, and he knew he was a little bit drunk, but perhaps that was exactly how he had to feel in order to tell them the truth. It was new to him to speak about feelings and he still had difficulties to overcome his usual taciturnity, so he pondered his options.

Inwardly fighting with himself, he breathed carefully before he opened his eyes and looked at his brothers. Letting his gaze wander from one to the other, his eyes finally rested on his young protégé who was seated at his bedside. D'Artagnan looked honestly curious and not the tiniest bit reproachful that he had kept this secret from him.

"It's alright, Athos, none of us would blame you. Just tell us," the Gascon said, sensing he wanted to say something and touching the convalescent unwittingly, wishing to encourage him.

Feeling the warmth of his little brother's touch and the energy emanating from him, the swordsman sighed and launched into telling his brothers what Elinja had revealed to him...

*14AAA41*

.

When Athos had finished his tale about Elinja's powers, the room fell silent. Each of the five men in the room independently thought about what they just had learned...

The swordsman watched his brothers as they each worked through the information he had just shared with them. Then he let his eyes close, too tired to fight the throbbing pain in his flank and the stinging in his chest, and somehow feeling alleviated because he had shared a part of his thoughts. Besides, they all seemed to be remaining calm, so he surmised he had nothing to worry about.

Just as he had predicted during his talk with the Persian, none of his brothers had seemed to be really surprised about what he had told them. For the swordsman knew his friends well, he had guessed that they already had had suspicions regarding his unconventional physician. None of them, though, seemed to be shocked, learning that d'Artagnan momentarily could almost read his mind, well, at least his feelings. But they had been astonished, hearing him talking about **his** ability to feel d'Artagnan's and Elinja's presence in his mind.

What he hadn't told them though, was what he had experienced during his fight with death, and what her part in that had been. Whilst he probably would tell his brothers some day about his weird experiences and dreams, he most probably would keep Elinja's failed manipulation to himself. That he owed her.

Then another thought crossed his mind and his eyes flew open again, widening in horror. Had it been **him** who had decided to tell them? Suddenly he remembered that he couldn't make his choice first, that he had been pondering, almost tending to keep silent. And then he had seen d'Artagnan's gaze and had felt him, his presence... Had felt some sort of energy emanating from him...

*14AAA41*

.

"You know, Athos," d'Artagnan's voice haltingly broke the silence and made Athos turn his head in his direction. "You **do** know that I would **never** use my ability to deliberately sway your mind, don't you?" There was nothing but sincerity in the young man's voice.

 _Of course_ , Athos thought. The Gascon still was touching him so he most likely could feel his worry. However, this knowledge was frightening, and that the young man at his side so exactly could tell what he was feeling, was making him feel somewhat naked. A very unusual emotion, and an un-welcome one. But even worse, d'Artagnan's question had just confirmed his suspicion: the boy could manipulate his mind. Up to which degree he didn't know, but the fact alone was annoying. _So, how can I feel sure about what I say or probably even about how I act?_

"Athos?" d'Artagnan repeated, when the resting man continued staring at him. He let go of Athos' arm and held his hands up. "You **know** that I would never use your trust, don't you?"

Feeling caught, Athos had to admit to himself that right now he wasn't completely sure about that fact. He had felt something before he had started to talk. _But was that really an attempt to manipulate me or just d'Artagnan's way of supporting me? Can I really trust the whelp with this?_

"You're doubting me," the Gascon concluded, sounding disappointed when Athos didn't answer, and started to get up.

"No," the swordsman stated, coming to a decision. It was d'Artagnan, whom this was about, d'Artganan, who was blessed, or cursed, with that skill. The loyal and honest young man, who had chosen him as a role model and had finally become his younger brother. One of few men, he trusted with his life and his soul.

This time Athos was quick enough to grab his brother's wrist. "No, d'Artagnan," he started, pulling the Gascon back onto the bedside. "I trust you." He locked gazes with the young man and held the eye contact, for once allowing his feelings to be seen. "I trust you with my life, my being, even with my soul. I **know** you never would take advantage of your ability."

When the boy seemed not entirely convinced, he sighed. "Look closer, d'Artagnan, **see** it. I allow you to," he said, inviting his brother to use his skill.

"No..." d'Artagnan shook his head, a shy smile appearing on his face that broadened when Athos started smiling as well. Then the boy took a deep breath, looking relieved. "Thank you," he murmured, his words confusing the convalescent.

"For what?" the ex-comte asked.

"For your trust," the young man simply said, as if that was enough explanation.

 _And it is_ , Athos thought, as he let his eyes close. _Trust is all that's needed, and it is one of the two things which keep us all together, which keep us alive... And wanting to live..._

*14AAA41*

.

Both men had completely forgotten about the presence of their brothers and the Captain, maybe because the three had stayed absolutely silent, refusing to interfere with the important talk they had been witnessing. So Treville's harrumphing now startled them both, and Athos as well as d'Artagnan turned their heads to look at their comrades, which all wore similar fond expressions on their faces.

"Well..." Treville was the one to break the emotional silence. "That was astonishing news about you two. Now I understand why Aramis didn't object when I decided to leave you," he nodded towards d'Artagnan, "behind. You knew already…" he finished, looking accusingly at the medic.

Aramis simply shrugged and smiled. "It wasn't my secret to to share," he said.

"But you told me," Porthos objected.

"No, I only confirmed your suspicion, you already had worked it out," the marksman retaliated.

"Hmm..." Porthos' expression morphed to thoughtful. "You know what I wonder about?" he asked. When nobody answered, but everyone looked questioningly, he fixed his gaze on their youngest.

D'Artagnan merely lifted his brows in a far too good imitation of his mentor. "What?"

"I really wonder if you'd be able to 'read' one of us as well", the burly musketeer said. He tilted his head, a challenging grin appearing on his face. "Mind a try?"

"I don't think this will work, Porthos," Aramis interfered. "At least not right now, for in this moment our feelings are more than clear. Or do you cherish some hidden anger?" If it was for him, he preferred relinquishing a demonstration. He couldn't risk the possibility of d'Artagnan finding out about his feelings for the queen and, more important, about the dauphin. He couldn't stand the thought of putting the boy and Porthos into danger, it was hard enough that Athos was involved.

"Aramis is right," Treville fell in. "As curious as I am about this as well, I think there'll be a better time for this."

Porthos just snorted, but let the topic go.

"However," the acting Captain continued, "this Persian healer did a great job, and even if the news about her additional skills are really astonishing, not to say scaring, I will stand to my promise. If Mistress bint Amin requires our help in the future, I will help her."

"As will we," Aramis and Porthos said in unison.

"She saved Athos life," d'Artagnan added. "For that I'm deeply indebted to her. So, yes, if she calls us, I'll go."

*14AAA41*

.

Athos smiled, hearing his brother's statements. Feeling d'Artagnan's hand moving to his chest, he forced his eyes open again. He could sense the Gascon's concern about his condition and could only agree to it, he really was feeling bad. When, as by miracle, the sachet with the opium grains appeared in his youngest brother's hand, he just nodded thankfully. He would once more be sensible and allow his body to rest. And maybe his mind tonight would do so as well, for he felt much more at ease than he had the last years.

There still was something to tell, some secrets to share, but for today it was enough.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** _Thanks to A reader, Debbie and AnotherGuest for your kind reviews. I'm glad you liked the way the last chap went. And yes, there's not much more left. I hope you enjoy the last two parts of this and maybe you'll join me and the boys again, when the sequel's coming. ;)_

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 **Chapter Twenty**

 **.**

With the regiment's return, the usual routine had resumed once again. Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan were put back on rotation at the palace, but with one on them always stationed at the garrison to look after Athos.

Only one day after the 'chair incident', as the four of them referred to that fateful fall, Athos was again capable of dressing himself and able to move about his room on his own, and since he'd been compliant, Aramis- with Treville's acceptance- had eventually allowed the convalescent to return to light duties. Of course, the definition of 'light duties' first had to be determined. In the end, it mainly consisted of Athos moping about the garrison, but of his own accord and will, and therefore considered work in the eyes of his brothers.

Athos begged to differ.

But eventually, with time, and after Aramis finally had removed the stitches, the swordsman was granted his full freedom to which his first act was to return to his personal apartments away from the garrison. It had been trying at first, walking to the garrison each day, but over time it had become easier. It even helped that at night, his brothers would accompany him home and most times even stay for supper or take him to a nearby tavern for drinks.

Life for Athos had nearly returned to normal, but the time away from his brothers -the hours they were working at the palace- left him feeling a little dejected and anxious.

Watching the young recruits sparring, and only able to assist verbally, Athos had started to become bored, for it was only interesting to watch, rather than participate, when it was his brothers leading the lessons. On those occasions, Athos found himself almost content to just sit and watch, for seeing d'Artagnan- his skills honed possibly more than most of the more seasoned musketeers- was something special to watch indeed.

It seemed as if the responsibility his protégé had assumed during the past weeks, had made the Gascon much more self-controlled and given him the ability to moderate his hot-headed temper. D'Artagnan obviously had finally internalized his advice -head over heart- and now promised to be a challenging sparring partner for him in the future.

He was even beginning to wonder if the young Gascon would be able to land a hit on him someday… Or not. The swordsman wasn't quite ready to give the whelp **that** much credit yet.

But those days were few and far between, and even when they did come about, Athos found that even watching his young protégé skilfully defeating the fresh recruits and sometimes even Aramis, although kept him content during the day, could not stem the nightmares he was forced to experience each and every night. Even after all this time had passed, Athos' nights were still riddled with memories of those fever-induced imaginations from when he'd been knocking on heaven's door. He could feel that d'Artagnan knew somehow. Luckily the Gascon had forwent asking him about his nights until now and had simply accepted his privacy. But finally his nightmares had become so bad, that he even considered drinking again, alone.

Last night had been no different. So today, with the accumulation of lost sleep, and the nagging memories and heavy wine he'd drank the night before, he had become nearly as hot-headed as the Gascon had been when they had first met.

He found himself extremely short-tempered now. After being forced to watch and teach such raw recruits, he had started snapping at almost everyone who approached him. But Athos knew it wasn't just the drinking and nightmares enhancing his mood, he also knew that it was because the time he spent with his brothers was becoming less and less. Their duties at the palace had become more frequent, eventually requiring all of their presence for longer than a day, and not allowing for even one of them to stay behind and keep him company.

Or more poignantly, keep his mind from straying to darker thoughts that kept him on edge.

Sitting on the bench he had claimed as his own, and watching as another recruit failed to heed his advice, he let out a long, aggravated sigh and headed for the garrison gates. He had to leave right now, otherwise he might do something he possibly would regret later. Maybe today was the day to drink himself into a blessed stupor for the first time in weeks, to indulge in a night without disturbing dreams. He had lasted surprisingly long without his usual way of compensation, maybe because he had spent every evening together with his friends, their presence distracting him and effectively stopping his wandering thoughts.

*14AAA41*

.

Athos was seated in the dimmer part of the tavern, back to the wall, observing the room and the entry. Staring at his second bottle of wine, he wondered about the time his brothers were expected to return, when the door opened and the three men he just had thought about, entered the tavern. All three of them shared the same look of worry that deepened when they spotted him.

Quickly they crossed the space between the door and his table and sat down.

"You're back," stated Athos.

"Mmh-hm... and you're gettin' drunk," Porthos assessed, making the swordsman raise an eyebrow.

"Bad day?" Aramis asked.

"You have no idea..."

"And an even worse night, I guess," d'Artagnan added, casting him a knowing glance.

Not really stunned by his protégé's statement, Athos looked up, keeping eye contact for barely a second, and then nodded.

"So are you up to talk about it?" the Spaniard inquired.

Letting his head drop, and hiding his face behind his hands, the convalescent considered his options. He could upset his brothers and simply stay and get completely drunk, just as he had planned. Or he could once in his life open up a bit and tell them what had been going on in his head this past while. Well, at least he was almost drunk enough. Although, it tempted him to brush off their concern and do what he'd always done, shoulder his burden by himself. But on the other hand...

*14AAA41*

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D'Artagnan shook his head in mild despair. He could sense his mentor's indecision, could feel him wanting to speak and simultaneously not. He knew that speaking about emotions was very difficult for his oldest brother, so maybe he should try and help him once more, sure that sharing his dark memories would help Athos.

 _If it still works… But no, I've promised him not to do that. Besides, it will not help him if he talks because I made him. He must tell us, because he wants to... But maybe my silent support can make his decision easier?_

Decision made, the Gascon reached out and laid his hand on his mentor's arm, strictly restraining his wishes and only allowing his own emotions to be felt.

D'Artagnan would keep his promise.

*14AAA41*

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When Athos heard a collective sigh and felt someone touch his arm, he lifted his head. Watching d'Artagnan's pleading expression, and the resigning look of his other two brothers, he wondered briefly if their youngest still had the ability to manipulate him.

And if he had? Did it really matter? After all, the boy had promised to not manipulate him and he trusted him. D'Artagnan wouldn't try to influence his feelings, the boy was loyal and honourable and sincere. Besides, Athos still could feel his presence and right now he was sensing him, but it was unobtrusive. The boy was only showing him his sympathy, his offer to support him, whatever he would decide.

Slowly exhaling, he made his decision. His brothers had earned themselves his honesty and his trust, and Elinja had advised him to speak to them, so it seemed that tonight would be the night.

"Not here," the swordsman told his brothers, instantly rising from his chair, before he started to walk over to the door. When he heard no sounds of his friends following him, he stopped and turned. "Are you going to stay or will you accompany me?" he asked, smiling faintly at their surprised faces.

"We'll surely accompany you, for the wine in your apartment is definitely better than here," Aramis declared, overcoming his amazement first and shooing the others off their seats. In the blink of an eye, they were all at Athos' side and together the quartet made their way to his lodgings.

*14AAA41*

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"The night when we returned to Paris..." Athos started, staring at his hands folded in his lap. They had reached his rooms a short while ago, and up until now, they had sat in silence while sharing in at least two more bottles of wine.

He took in a few deep breaths before continuing. "... I was ready to let go." He paused again when he heard several sharp inhales, but didn't look up, fearing that otherwise he couldn't continue.

Taking a slow, deep breath, he started anew. "It seemed easier than to resume fighting. The days in Pinon had revived all of my darkest memories. Being back there had amplified my guilty feelings for what I had done. That I made Anne what she is, neglected my duty toward my tenants... And then I put you all in danger..."

Sensing that Aramis was going to interrupt him, he lifted his head. "No... just let me talk, my friend. This is difficult enough..."

When the medic nodded, he continued. "I heard d'Artagnan yelling at me on this night, after we had returned to the garrison, begging me to fight, but I just couldn't. All these years I lived with those dark parts in my heart and I desperately wanted to get rid of it. I wanted to be free. The darkness in me threatened to overwhelm me and I just wanted to escape. It even made me forget what we've been through together, what I owe you. What you three mean to me. It was more than I could bear, it was crushing my soul, so I choose the easy way... I let go."

The silence drew out and got awkward, Athos blaming himself for hurting his brothers and the others not daring to intervene.

"But you, d'Artagnan," Athos finally continued, looking over to his protégé, who hung on his every word, "you didn't let me. And believe me or not, I'm grateful for it." He smiled fondly at his opposite who looked somewhat relieved, mirroring his expression.

"But that's not all, is it?" Aramis couldn't stop himself from asking.

"No," the swordsman started again, "the strange dreams, or maybe more likely the near death experience I had when the fever had me in it's clutch... it's still haunting me. I remember the sensation of burning, of floating unconnected to the world, buried under my sins... it felt like hell." Forced to pause to collect himself, he took several deep breaths before he was able to continue. "In the beginning I thought I deserved it, deserved being punished for my sins, but soon I begged for redemption. I even argued with god about being punished, but of course I got no answer. Not directly at least... But I felt someone in my mind, an unfamiliar presence."

"Elinja," Aramis mumbled, looking apologetic when Athos sighed about the repeated interruption. "Sorry," the medic murmured, demonstratively shutting his mouth afterwards.

Showing an ever so little smirk, Athos resumed his narrative. "I thought her a demon, a messenger from hell... Sent to bring me into the devil's clutches... She knew too much, things no one could know... and it scared me... And then, I don't know why or when or how, that changed... I suddenly needed this presence, clung onto it... and then she left. And once more I thought me on the way to hell and started again to believe that I deserved it. That I deserved to be burning for my sins forever."

This time he was interrupted by the sounds of disbelief from his brothers. Being afraid of lifting his head he waited, only to flinch when he felt someone sitting down on the bed next to him, touching his arm.

"You surely do **not** deserve to burn in hell, Athos," the sincere voice of his little brother told him, prompting him to shake his head.

"No, listen to me," the Gascon continued. "You're the most honourable man I've ever met. Your sense of duty, your composure, your devotion to king and regiment makes you a shining example for everyone, every musketeer. But it's your loyalty, your love for your brothers that makes it easy to love you, too. Despite your sometimes grouchy moods..."

Athos almost could hear the grin in d'Artagnan's voice, before the young man continued.

"The day we first met, I'll never forget. When I stormed into your life, accused you falsely and tried to kill you... you could have killed me easily, but you didn't. And when the Guards came to arrest you, you surrendered, trusting in your brothers to find out the truth and keep you safe. Your attitude impressed me deeply and I wished nothing else than to be allowed to emulate you, whilst simultaneously fearing you'd never forgive me. But you did and allowed me to partake in your life, to become your friend and finally your brother. So whatever you think you deserve, I assure you: Hell it is dead sure not."

Swallowing thickly, the swordsman slowly looked up to meet d'Artagnan's steady, understanding and affectionate gaze. He placed his free hand over his little brother's and squeezed it gently, too emotional to speak, but quirking his lips into a faint sort of smile. Hearing the other two hemming, he let his eyes wander, glad to see a similar expression on their faces.

"Told you so," Aramis said with a grin. "Maybe you're able to believe our young friend, if you can't believe me. You're not condemned Athos, no matter what you think."

"You just need to learn how to forgive yourself," stated Porthos. "Maybe that's somethin' you can learn from the pup." He grinned broadly at the annoyed look he earned from d'Artagnan, which looked very similar to Athos' expression.

"I hate being called 'pup'," the Gascon grunted. "When will you stop that?"

"Just let me think," Porthos started, his grin broadening, "surely not as long as you react to it the way you do."

D'Artagnan huffed in frustration, looking around and seeing the others simply shrug.

"You do know how it's meant, d'Artagnan, don't you? It's a term of endearment," the medic made sure, smiling, when he got a short nod from their youngest. Then he returned his attention back to the oldest, sitting on the edge of his bed, still wearing an unconfident expression.

"But you weren't done, were you? Please, continue," Aramis stated to Athos, guiding them all back on topic.

Shaking his head, the approached took another breath to ready himself for his next words.

"When I was burning with fever, everything was muzzled. The memories of Thomas, of my brother's death, and my guilt melted together, and all that was mixed with hearing that voice I somehow recognized as familiar, but couldn't pin down correctly... It maddened me, for I **knew** the voice and still I couldn't remember where from or whose it was... I **knew** it belonged to my brother, but then I remembered my brother's death and I was confused... However, this familiar voice never stopped talking to me and I clung to it, making it my lifeline and desperately tried to follow it out of the dark... Time dragged on, seeming endless and I slowly regained the ability to think and to remember... Remember my brothers, brothers in all but blood and as dear to me as Thomas had been... And then I knew who was talking to me and why I **mustn't** let go. Why I had to fight and for whom I had to live... I remembered my new little brother, the one who's so similar to Thomas and yet not. Who resembles **me** more than I'm willing to admit..."

This time it was the Gascon's turn to swallow and look stirred. But he kept silent and just tightened his grip on Athos' arm. The swordsman casted a glance to his other two brothers, to see if they'd be disappointed by his confession, but all he could find was understanding and acceptance.

"We know that you and our young friend here have formed a very special bond, Athos. As much as we know that you love us, too. Just like we do," Aramis reassured him and Porthos just nodded.

"Thank you," the convalescent murmured, taking several steadying breaths. "It wasn't the thought of d'Artagnan alone that brought me back," he explained further. "I remembered all of you and I didn't want to hurt you. And for I knew that my death would shatter each of you, I resumed fighting. I followed my little brother's voice and made my way back..."

"And for that we are all more than grateful," the medic said, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah... to that I definitely agree," the burly musketeer added.

"I couldn't have endured losing you, Athos. Not after losing my father, my family, my home," the Gascon admitted, repeating his former words that Athos most likely hadn't heard. "You're my family now, all of you," he added, looking each man in the eye, receiving equal looks of pride and affection from the three of them.

For a moment the silence lasted, the atmosphere in the room getting thick with unspoken emotions, making the men feel slightly uncomfortable. Then Porthos laughed in relief and grabbed his abandoned cup.

"Let's drink to that," he proclaimed, lifting his cup and dispelling the over-emotional atmosphere successfully. "To family!" he exclaimed.

"To family!" three voices repeated unison.

*14AAA41*

 _The end... ?_

 _Well... not yet..._


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:** _Thanks to Another Guest, Debbie, and a reader for your kind reviews. I appreciate them. Also my thanks to everyone, who's favorited or has been following this story, your silent support meant a lot._

 _One last time, THANK YOU to my beta **Space Cowboy** , who found all my mistakes and weird vocabulary use. She put much effort in making this readable and I'm still grateful for it. _

_But enough talking, here's the final piece of_ 'More than battered'. _Enjoy!_

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 **Epilogue**

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About a week later, Aramis had declared Athos fit enough to start with his usual training again, so the latter had invited d'Artagnan for some sparring. Firstly, the younger dejected, not wishing to harm him and unsure if his mentor really was up to it. But a little teasing from Porthos and Aramis soon had the Gascon facing the swordsman in the middle of the yard.

"Don't hold back, d'Artagnan," Athos requested. "I want to see your best performance."

"But..."

"No, don't spare me. I must know how far my recovery has come. And you're the best partner to figure that out. Porthos and Aramis I know too well, even if they try to be unpredictable. But you sometimes **are** unpredictable."

"So that means I'd sometimes better forget your 'head over heart'-rule?" the Gascon mocked him.

The swordsman merely shrugged, quirking his lips into a small grin. "Maybe, but just maybe you'll be able to land a hit today," he teased, alluding that he hadn't yet regained his former strength.

"Well then... as you wish," d'Artagnan retorted and attacked.

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The swords clashed and flashed, the two men danced around each other, and soon the duel had aroused the attention of the whole regiment. Every musketeer who wasn't on duty had entered the circle and each of them was watching the fight with awe.

Awe for Athos because his swordplay was nearly as fluid as it ever had been, his moves only the tiniest bit more sluggish than usual due to his ongoing recovery.

And awe for their youngest member, for d'Artagnan kept up with the best swordsman in France with an impressing ease that none of them had noticed before.

How long it lasted, nobody was able to say, but then, after what felt like an eternity, the duel came to a sudden end.

*14AAA41*

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Both men were covered in sweat, when Athos was recognizing that his energy wouldn't last much longer. He had to put an end to the fight in the next few minutes, or otherwise d'Artagnan would actually defeat him, for the boy didn't look as exhausted as he himself felt.

So he decided to use a rather strange move, one he'd use only if lacking any other option; and with a twist and a turn that made his still healing ribs flare with pain, he forced d'Artagnan on his knees, disarming him successfully with the same movement. He barely could suppress a moan, the pain in his chest he had expected, but the dull, throbbing ache that now was settling in his flank, that took him by surprise. Obviously his muscles still were not used to this extent of exertion.

*14AAA41*

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D'Artagnan shook his head in confusion, how in hell had it come to this? He had felt sure that he would get the upper hand eventually, because he had seen the signs of exhaustion in his mentor's movements. He had supposed that he only had to last a little bit longer, that he had to keep the fight going for just another minute, to win his first duel against his mentor.

But now there he was, on his knees - _again_ -, and disarmed of his sword - _yet again_ -, which had landed in the dirt right behind Athos. The swordsman was standing diagonally to him, at his left side. He was panting heavily, his face lined with pain, but his sword wasn't trembling and hardly touching his neck.

"It seems, today's not the day," Athos jeered. "You're dead, d'Artagnan."

"As are you," the young man retorted, slightly intensifying the pressure from his main gauche pointing to his mentor's stomach, making the man wince and then look down briefly. When Athos looked up again, the first signs of a smile appeared on his face.

"I guess we can call that a standoff?" the Gascon asked with a wink, whilst the surrounding men started to applause.

Allowing the smile to broaden and thus his emotion, his pride for his protégé clearly to be seen, the swordsman let his sword drop and reached out to help his brother up. D'Artagnan gratefully accepted the offered help and rose, sharing his mentor's smile.

"Well done, d'Artagnan," Athos praised his brother, sheathing his sword. "Someday you might even outright defeat me... Without getting yourself almost killed," his smile morphed into a teasing grin.

"But not today," the younger objected, grabbing his lost sword and sheathing his weapons. "And not even the next..." he stopped briefly and then grinned as well, "...weeks?"

Athos couldn't help but laugh openly, a reaction that somewhat stunned the surrounding men, before putting his arm around d'Artagnans shoulders to accompany him over to their table. The younger graciously allowed the gesture to look like he was led, fully aware of the toll their training fight had taken on his mentor, and wishing to support him, providing him relief from the pain he knew his brother was in.

*14AAA41*

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Porthos watched the pair walking slowly across the yard and nudged Aramis with his elbow, grinning broadly. "Told you so," he said. "So drinks are on you tonight."

"Oh no, not again!" the medic complained, eliciting the burly musketeer's booming laughter, which shortly after made him laugh, too.

And together they followed their brothers to join them at their table, celebrating their brotherhood once more.

*14AAA41*

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Treville stood on the balcony, arms resting on the railing, watching silently, a thoughtful smile on his face.

It had been obvious that Athos hadn't yet regained his former strength and stamina, just as it was obvious that the man still was hurting. So he now wondered how long his best swordsman had been hiding the amount of pain he was in and if he ever would admit to it. Of course, this was a question he wouldn't get an answer to, unless… maybe he simply should ask d'Artagnan. The Gascon hopefully still could 'read' Athos to a degree and therefor tell him if it was save to put the man back on duty. Given that the youth was willing to use his ability without Athos' knowledge… Well, the obvious answer to that was 'no', as he knew all too well. D'Artagnan never would betray his brothers' trust.

Sighing, the acting Captain rose to full height. He simply would have to give it a try, fully aware that Athos wouldn't like to stay behind.

"You four, in my office, now!" he called his troublemakers to attention, eliciting a broad smile from Aramis. Waiting for them to raise, he then turned and headed into the room, where he sat down at the desk, concentrating on some pieces of paperwork.

"Captain…" Athos' greeting made Treville look up, seeing his men lined up in their usual manner.

"The king has decided to visit an obscure astronomer named Marmion tomorrow, to watch the solar eclipse. His majesty obviously thought it unnecessary to inform us, for Rochefort put his Red Guards in charge of his security. But be that as may, I want you four to join them and keep a weather eye on all of it. The king plans to take the queen and the dauphin with him. You're going to the Louvre tomorrow morning, make sure you arrive in time."

"So, you're not going to accompany us," Athos stated.

"His majesty made it perfectly clear, that my presence at his side is no longer wanted," Treville reminded him. "Even if I'm at disgrace, that shall not stop the musketeers from fulfilling their duty and protecting his life whenever necessary."

The four men in front of him nodded. "We won't disappoint you, Captain," Aramis said, enhancing the last word and remembering him successfully of their loyalty.

"Dismissed," Treville just barked, barely hiding the grateful smirk tugging at his mouth.

When they started to walk out, he stopped the last of them. "Athos, one word…"

"Sir?"

"Are you up to it?" the Captain asked. "I see that you're still in pain. No," he raised a hand to stop his opponent from arguing, "don't deny it. But I trust your judgement, so if the answer is 'yes', then you'll go."

"It's nothing I can't handle, Captain," Athos answered, thereby admitting that Treville wasn't completely wrong in his assessment. "But I'm fine."

 _Or at least, tomorrow I will be_ , the swordsman added silently to himself, already knowing of a way to make his assertion a fact. There still were some grains left….

*14AAA41*

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 _Well, and here we go for S2E6 'Through A Glass Darkly' and all of you know what happened. So that is…_

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 **THE END…**

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 **A/N:** _I re-wrote this epilogue after my beta finished it, so if there are any mistakes in it, they're all mine. ;)_

 _Some of you are sad about this coming to an end, just as am I, but maybe it helps to know that I already started writing down the sequel. The story line is already finished, yet it will take a bit of time to put it all into words. Luckily I'm on holiday soon, so there's a great chance of quick progress. ;)_

 _By the way, it's my beta's fault, that there will be a sequel. She gave me the idea for a quite weird story-line and I fell straight for it. Once more it will be Athos- centric, including our boys leaving France and a reunion with Elinja. And if I've managed to make you curious now, well... *gg*_

 ** _Thanks again to all of you for your continued support, may it have been in writing reviews or just favouriting or following the story. I really appreciated it!_**

 _nurse13_


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